


The Library

by ethiobird



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bartender!Clarke, Emotional Sex, F/F, can u say emotional catharsis, clarke gets scared by how fast she falls for lexa, everyone is a smartass, lexa being a patient smol lesbean, sort of, they all work at a bar of course they drink a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 55,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7281766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethiobird/pseuds/ethiobird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You certainly come across intriguing personalities every so often when you tend bar. None quite so intriguing as the lone girl with cascading chestnut hair sitting at the end of the bar, drinking a whiskey neat and reading a book, however.</p><p>Except, wait, that's your new co-worker.</p><p>or</p><p>The College Bar AU in which Clarke is the Mom Friend bartender, Lexa is the new hire, and everyone is really just a hot damn mess. Shot of Jameson, anyone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

* * *

 

 

 

 

_hey bell I’m really sorry I’m running a little late, I’ll be there in 5_

_Lol do you really think I care if you’re literally four minutes late? You’re fine princess_

_I’m just sayin._

_Oh hey Clarke remember that one time I no call no showed because I forgot to plug in my phone so it died and I slept til 3, and then Kane had to call you in when you were probably way more hungover than I was because Raven and I kept feeding you shots? I’m pretty sure I still owe you pretty big for that one so I think I’ll probably survive if you’re four minutes late lol_

 

“Here, sorry.” You say, slightly out of breath as you set your purse on the back bar and hastily tie your hair up.

Bellamy leans against the back bar next to you while you clock in, surveying the almost empty restaurant. “I’m disappointed, Griff. It’s 4:03, you got here a minute earlier than you said you would.”

You shove his shoulder lightly without looking at him. “Don’t make fun of me for trying to be considerate.” You reach into the cabinet under the computer for a fresh bar towel to stuff into your back pocket as Bell counts out his tips. You then turn to face the bar-restaurant – there’s one two top of guys and a tipsy three top of wine moms nibbling on fries near the windows, and one girl with a whiskey neat at the other end of the bar. “Busy day, huh?” You deadpan as you hear Bell’s timesheet print behind you.

“Yeah, wasn’t sure I was gonna be able to handle it. Almost had to call you in.” He settles himself at a stool right in front of you. It’s a joke, of course. Bell’s been working wall-to-wall packed Saturday nights with you for over a year now.

“You give yourself so little credit, Blake. You can totally handle one person at the bar. It’s once you start getting more than three or four people that I get worried.”

Octavia suddenly appears at the side of the bar, leaning on her elbows at the drink mat. “Ooh, burn.”

“I can give you the number for the local burn center if you want.” You shoot to Bell without missing a beat.

He shakes his head with a smile. “Cute, girls. Now shut up and get me my shifter.”

Octavia cuts in, nodding to the two top, “I just sent another round for those guys through, too.” As if on cue, the printer clicks and whirrs the sound of a new drink ticket. You pull a couple PBR bottles out from the reach-in beneath you and pop off the caps, setting them on the drink mat with a practiced swiftness. “Thanks, lady.” She says before putting a winning smile back on for her buzzed twenty-two-year-old boys. Bell is watching their interactions carefully, as usual. You bring his attention back to you; Octavia is more than capable of handling a couple flirty boys. If anything, they’re completely wrapped around her finger.

“Alright, what’re you drinking, big boy?”

He sighs. “I mean, I was gonna be easy and just have you pour me one of those melon hefs we just got in, which you should try by the way, that Tacoma brewery makes some good shit. But," He rubs his hands together. "Now I’m feeling a little fancier.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re gonna make me muddle something, aren’t you.”

“Mint and maybe some blueberries even. I’m feeling cute today.”

You groan dramatically. “Bell, I can’t make you a blueberry mojito right now, I’m– “ You gesture to the very much dead bar, save for the one girl at the end closest to the kitchen. Her whiskey neat is just about empty. “…super busy, okay?”

Bellamy chuckles as you pointedly walk to the end of the bar to the Whiskey Girl. Her eyes snap up from the book she was reading as you approach her from behind the bar.

“Can I get you another…” You gesture to her near-empty glass.

“Bulleit, and no I’m fine, thank you. I should head out soon.”

You eye her up and down discreetly – she’s definitely cute, if not slightly intimidating in the intensity of her wide eyes. Maybe Bell will make his own damn blueberry mojito if you make yourself busy with a customer.

You call over to him, “Girl knows her whiskey, I like her.”

You expect a shy smile or a self-satisfied giggle, instead, a flat, “Well I certainly know there’s not much to choose from here.”

Interesting. She says it in such a matter-of-fact way that you can’t even really be offended. It’s true – the bar’s whiskey selection is limited; you know that, and you're not even that big on whiskey. It’s always been a more draft-beer and specialty cocktail oriented bar. You glance over at Bell, who's settled back with crossed arms, wearing an amused look. You can tell he’s ready to spectate, because you have this very special way of sugary sweetly tearing customers new assholes when they’re pissing you off. But you don’t, because you're not pissed off. Instead you lean forward, elbows on the bar, which clearly surprises her a little, as she straightens slightly.

“I definitely agree. I mean, I’ve always been more of a beer girl myself but I know we don’t have much to offer in the whiskey department. I’ll put in a word for a better selection.” You offer her a coy grin and a flirty-if-you-want-it-to-be wink as you turn back to Bell, who’s glancing between you and Whiskey Girl with a raised brow. “Alright, Bell, I’ll make your damn drink.” You huff, louder than necessary.

He glances between you and Whiskey Girl once more before shrugging. “Well, since we’re already on the subject of whiskey, I haven’t taken my staff shot yet, wanna do them now?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m on the clock, Bellamy.”

He mockingly rolls his eyes right back at you. “Yeah because you’re _so_ busy right now.”

“Busy dealing with your ass. That's a full time job in itself.”

He ignores you and calls to Whiskey Girl, “What do you think, would a shot of good ol’ Jameson be too far beneath you? It's kind of a staple around here.”

The comment bristles you for some reason. You don’t even know the girl, but she’s entitled to have preferences and opinions about the things she likes without someone like Bell ragging on her about them. You scoff, "Says the guy who needed a Coke chaser every time he took his staff shot the first month he worked here.”

“I don’t mind Jameson.” Whiskey Girl interjects, softly yet firmly, snapping her book shut and turning to face the two of you more fully.

“There.” Bell slaps his hand onto the bar. “Three Jameo shots, if you please.”

You consider Whiskey Girl for a moment before chuckling. “Tell you what, Bell. She can have my staff shot, that way you’re not spending money, you still get to take a shot with someone, and she doesn’t feel obligated to chat with you because you bought it for her. Everybody wins.”

It’s not that you thought Bell was hitting on the girl at all – it’d be gross and painfully obvious if he was – but you want to gauge Whiskey Girl’s reaction to the idea of being hit on by him. You're getting a  _vibe_ from her. And you and Bell have been each others’ wingmen enough times that he knows you well enough to know when you’re just being friendly, and when you’re scoping someone out. You kind of feel bad for essentially throwing him under the bus, and normally you'd never hit on someone while you're working but she’s cute, okay? And based on the whiskey comment she seems to be no-bullshit, and she clearly knows what she likes, and honestly you’re into that.

Except now both of them are giving you the same weird look, and your usually smooth tactics are suddenly completely derailing.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to buy it because it’d be a staff shot for her too, so…” Bell says, measured.

“Oh!” Your eyes widen with realization. “I didn’t realize Kane hired another, wait–“ Your brows furrow again in confusion. We didn’t need any extra FOH staff. Is someone cutting back on hours? Wait that makes no sense, you would’ve been the first to hear about any of that.

“Lexa’s our new kitchen manager. Did Kane seriously not tell you?”

Your mouth drops open. You’re a moron. If you’d been more focused on observing details other than her cascading chestnut hair or pillowy lips, you would’ve noticed the thin, faded film of flour on her black v-neck, or the flat-billed hat, also flour-covered, resting next to her book.

Bell turns to Whiskey Girl – to Lexa. “Kane’s bitter that she won’t take the Front Of House manager title even though she pretty much does all the manager duties anyway. I bet he didn’t tell her out of spite.”

“N-no.” You cut in, voice cracking embarrassingly. You power through, clearing your throat. “He did tell me, I just completely forgot.” Lie. You remembered. In fact, you were expecting to meet her when you got here, but because you were four minutes late – sorry, _three –_ you thought maybe she'd already left and you’d just missed her. The truth is, all Kane told you was they were bringing in someone to take over for Anya that had worked here a few years ago before the bar ownership went to Jaha, and that her name was Lexa. Based on those two facts, the last thing you were expecting was a quiet, pretty girl about your age that’s opinionated about her whiskey. You busy yourself with pouring the Jameson shots, deciding to pour a third for yourself in an effort to dispel your embarrassment; you’re sure your cheeks are tinged a little pink.

“If I’d been looking more closely I would’ve noticed you’re covered in flour.” You chuckle to try and play it off, because you _were_ looking closely. Just not at that. You bring the three shots over to Lexa’s end, forcing Bellamy to get up to join you. “I think being late probably frazzled me a little. I’m Clarke, by the way. It’s nice to meet you, Lexa.”

She gives you a tiny, amused smile as she shakes your hand over the bar. “You too, Clarke.”

You slide the two shots over, lifting yours as you nod to Lexa. “To your first day at The Library.”

"To my first day at The Library." She nods back, locking her wide eyes with yours, and you note the way her gaze is paradoxically both soft and imposing.

“Cheers, ladies.” Bell cuts in, clinking his shot glass against both of yours. You tilt your head back, breaking that little spell of eye-contact with her as the Jameson burns its way down your throat. You open your eyes from a wince just in time to see Lexa set her empty shot glass down and slide it forward, seemingly unaffected by the whiskey. She doesn’t even wince; it’s like she took a shot of water.

 _Cute_ and _pretty_ were the words you’d been using to describe her in your mind up until now but listen there’s just something entirely _hot_ about a girl that can handle her liquor.

You’re pretty sure this is gonna get you in trouble.

As if reading your mind, she sips the last dribble of her Bulleit, slings her bag over her shoulder, and slides off her barstool. “I have to head out. I’ll see you both later. Thanks for the shot.”

“See ya.” You and Bell say in unison. You watch her as she walks toward the exit, probably longer than necessary.

Bell is staring at you when you turn back.

“What?” You feign. He raises a brow. “She’s hot, okay?”

“Going for the kitchen manager, huh?”

“I didn’t realize she was the kitchen manager, okay?”

“You knew she was the kitchen manager when you stared at her ass as she walked out the door.”

“I’m allowed to appreciate a nice ass, Bell.”

“I’m just giving you shit, Griff.”

You huff, indignant. “Anyway. So a blueberry mojito?” You divert as you pull her empty glass and the three empty shot glasses and set them by the sinks.

“I’ll just have one of those hefs, actually. You’re,” He puts up air quotes. “’Frazzled’ enough as it is.”

You ignore his teasing with a roll of your eyes as you grab a pint glass from the cooler, then walk over to pull the tap handle for the melon hef. “So how was her first day? She do okay?”

You see his shrug out of the corner of your eye, “Yeah, I mean she definitely knows her shit. She worked here before Jaha bought the place out so she was pretty at home in there. She's kind of a bitch, though, if I’m honest.”

Your blood runs unexpectedly cold at the remark as you wipe foam from the side of his glass. “You don’t even know her, Bell.”

“Uh,” He says, narrowing his eyes as he takes the full pint glass from you. “Neither do _you._ You weren’t the one here working with her today. Like if you thought Anya was uptight,” You never did, you just knew she liked people to be efficient and organized. “It’s just like she has no concept of politeness, she’s all business. Stone cold.”

“She seemed pretty polite when she thanked me for a free shot.” You shrug. “She probably just has a system for how she likes things, and she’s straightforward about it. Nothing wrong with that.”

He considers you with a furrowed brow before shaking his head with the hint of a smirk. “Whatever you say, Griff. You just want to get in the new kitchen manager’s pants.”

You sigh dramatically again. “Ugh, I didn’t _know!_ ”

* * *

You’re at The Library ten minutes earlier than you need to be the next day to open bar. Lexa and Monty are already here, working on food prep. Monty's stoner electronic music is blaring obnoxiously from the kitchen just like every other morning you've worked with him, and Lexa appears to be fine with that. Surely she's not as bad as Bell says she is. 

“Morning, guys!” You call over to them.

“Morning!” Monty calls out as he bobs his head to the beat.

Lexa acknowledges you with a curt nod, expression stoic. This, coupled with how her lean arms are revealed by a black tank and apron, and the way her face is framed by wisps of hair escaping from a long braid, all underneath a red flat-billed cap, backwards on her head, is, well.

You know from experience that working with someone you’re attracted to is always an adventure.

You’re checking what beers need stocking when you feel your phone buzz in your back pocket – it’s your mom. You sigh. Normally you’d never answer your phone at work, but you won’t open for over an hour, and since you essentially closed last night it’s not like much stocking needs to be done anyway. Plus, she’s been bothering you about a time to talk for a couple weeks now. You may as well humor her.

“Hey, mom.” You say, tapping the speaker button and setting your phone on the bar while you work.

“ _Clarke_!” Abby sounds almost startled, as if she never expected you to actually pick up. You suppose she should be given you almost never do. You always tell her you’re at work when she calls, and for the most part you are, but sometimes you’re in the studio or just at home, not doing anything. Talking to Abby always leaves you feeling drained.

“What’s up?” You quip as you pull lemons, limes, and oranges out of the reach in.

_“I just wanted to call and see how you’re doing. How is everything? How’s work? School? Heard from Wells since he moved back?”_

“Okay, whoa.” You slide the cutting board out, cutting a lime into eighths with a speed and precision you’ve perfected over the last two years. “Too many questions at once, mom.”

 _“Sorry.”_ There’s a pause. _“I know you have a busy life with work, and of course with classes. I’m just always happy when I can catch a second to chat with you._ ”

It’s not quite _I never hear from you anymore_ but that’s pretty much what Abby means when she says it.

“Anyway.” You toss a fresh cut lime into the fruit tray. “Everything’s fine, work’s good. Classes are fine. Wells started serving over here part time to tide him over until he can land a job.”

 _“Oh. So…”_ You know those aren’t much of answers. You almost feel bad. _“Well that’s good to hear. I hope something pops up for him soon.”_

“Yeah.” You say. Another lime into the fruit tray.

 _“So, first semester of Senior year?”_ She says, and you automatically stiffen at the subject of school. _“Are your instructors letting you be more independent with your work?”_

You don’t know why she even bothers asking. It’s not like she supports you getting your B.F.A. anyway. Valedictorian, a year ahead in your pre-med program, right on track to be a world class surgeon, and what do you do? Throw it all away by dropping the program after two years in it, picking up Fine Art and Illustration instead. Oh yeah, your mom’s proud as hell. You could especially tell when she rescinded the financial support you’d have needed to both live in the city and get through the program without being in crippling debt. What should've been two years in the program stretched to three as a result.

In the years since, she’s apologized and offered to support you again but you’d refused. You make almost a grand a week bartending these days and you don’t need her help anymore anyway.

“Yeah. They gave me my own studio space.” You say with a tone of finality. There's an awkward pause as you start on the lemons.

 _“That must be nice."_ Another awkward beat. _"And work? How is seeing Wells again?”_

“Work is good, we just brought on a new kitchen manager yesterday.” You say, pointedly avoiding the unsubtle Wells question. You and Wells have been friends since you were little, and you’ve always known he feels something more than friendship for you, even if you don't reciprocate those feelings. You don't want to talk about that with Abby.

 _“Oh, fun.”_ You cringe. Really, mom? _Fun_? _“He seem nice?”_

“She.” You correct quickly. As if on cue, Lexa exits the kitchen with a water bottle and starts filling it up at the soda gun. “Her name’s Lexa. And yeah, she’s nice.” You glance over at her with a small smile and mouth _my mom_ to her. She nods in understanding before turning to watch the water fill her bottle, ever so slowly as always.

 _“That’s nice.”_  Yet another awkward beat as the trickling sounds from the soda gun fill the area, along with Monty's music. _“Any special boy in your life?”_ You roll your eyes and notice Lexa’s own lips pull at the corners at the typical invasive mom-question.

“No, mom.”

 _“Special girl?”_ Abby probes further, teasing, just as Lexa finishes filling her bottle. Your stomach drops, and your panic instincts tell you to snatch the phone and turn it off speaker before she can say any more while Lexa is still standing here, but it’s already been said, so there's no point in trying to backtrack. It’s not that you’re ashamed of your sexuality by any means, it’s just that you like to have control over how certain people find out.

Specifically girls.

Specifically girls you’re attracted to.

“Um, no - no girls either.” You almost stutter it as you say it. You avoid looking at Lexa as she twists her bottle lid back on and walks back into the kitchen. “There’s no one.”

_“Alright. I’m just curious.”_

“Yeah, I know, mom.” You sigh. “Listen, I should go. I’m actually at work right now and I still have a lot to do before we open.” Lie. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

 _“Okay! Yeah, of course, I’ll let you get back to it.”_ You try to ignore the disappointment in her voice. _“I love you, sweetheart. Let’s talk again soon, okay?”_

“Sure. You too. Bye.” Your fingers move from the End Call button to pinch the bridge of your nose. You busy yourself with grabbing the beers you need stocked from downstairs while you simmer in something of a mild mortification. Except, when you come back up and place the last Alaskan Amber into its designated spot in the reach-in, you turn to the kitchen and you’re pretty sure you don’t imagine Lexa quickly averting her eyes from your form as soon as you notice her looking.

Interesting. 

* * *

You quickly understand why Bellamy had such a negative first impression of Lexa, and you suspect she’ll have a similar effect on some of the other staff. It’s not that you have that same impression – in fact, you like the way that she operates. She doesn’t mince words – she’s efficient, clear, and straightforward with Monty and Monroe when she gets there, and she calls food orders up loudly and clearly enough that you, Bryan, and Maya can hear. The ticket times never go over 20 minutes, even in the middle of lunch rush. That’s more than you can say for those disaster nights when it’s Monty, Miller, and Jasper running the kitchen.

She’s damn good at her job. And this is, what, her second day running the show? Honestly it’s just nice to work with someone that works hard. Of course, a lot of times you’ll get someone new that only works hard for the first two months for the sake of appearances, but you don’t get the sense that Lexa will be one of those. You don’t get any kind of sense that she gives a rat’s ass what people think about her in general. And it’s not that the others don’t work hard, but you have heard about nights where Bell will recklessly feed everyone various shots through the night, or Jasper and Monty will skip out for ten minutes to smoke a bowl, then when dinner rush comes around Jasper will forget he dropped chicken strips in the fryer or Monty will lose track of a pizza and burn it around the edges. Even Lincoln, who’s one of the most on-task cooks, has been caught in dry storage making out with Octavia while on-shift. Bell wasn’t stoked about that one.

“Hi!” You call as a late-twenties couple tentatively strides towards the bar. “Welcome to The Library. First time here?” You can tell it is based on their wandering eyes. They nod. You dive into your first-timer spiel – fresh ground beef daily! Locally sourced ingredients! Ever-changing tap selection from nearby breweries! Why would you name a bar The Library of all things? Well, we focus on the college crowd – _when your mom asks where you are, don’t lie; tell her you’re at The Library!_

Putty in your hands, every time. Raven or even Bell may be a little better at handling the fast-paced stress of Late Night, and you’re still damn good at it, mind you, but no one sells the place better than you do.

Four o’clock rolls around and Raven comes in to take over for you. The couple is still working on their food, and normally you’d just stay clocked in until they close out with you. Normally, you also wouldn’t sit at the bar and drink when patrons you’ve served are still sitting there, just ‘cause you think that’s a little tacky, but a certain green-eyed brunette just sat herself at the end and is unweaving her long braid, rustling her hands through it.

You transfer the couple to Raven, quickly clock out and gather your tips, then seat yourself one stool away from Lexa – just in case she likes her space.

“Raven, you met Lexa yet?” You call over the bar, nodding towards Lexa.

“Huh-uh. You’re our new kitchen manager, yeah?”

Lexa nods wordlessly, somehow without coming across as timid.

“Raven. Nice to meet-cha.” She smiles warmly as she shakes Lexa’s hand, which is good – that means Bell hasn’t already warned her that Lexa’s a bitch.

“Staff shot?” You say. Lexa nods again. “And a double Bulleit, neat, for me.” You say, a little smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you glance at Lexa.

A matching smile pulls at the corners of her own lips, and she tilts her head just slightly, intrigued. “I’ll have the same.” She says, not breaking eye contact with you.

You ignore the subtle raised brow Raven sends you as she turns to pull the Jameson and Bulleit bottles.

“I thought you were more of a beer girl.” Lexa says quietly. You’re still trying to figure out how she commands so much authority and confidence when half the time she’s completely soft-spoken.

“I like to experiment.” _Maybe a little too on-the-nose with the phrasing, there, Griff_. You try to backtrack. “A good bartender should always be broadening their horizons.”

She nods with that same little smile. “I see.”

“Who knows, maybe you’ll turn me into a whiskey girl.” You say as Raven finishes pouring the drinks and shots, and slides them over. She’s poured herself a shot as well. You’re long past berating her for taking her staff shots on the clock; you know she knows her limits.

“And give up your true love, beer?” Raven cuts in with a scoff. “I don’t think so.”

“Hey now, I can like both.” Oh my god _, phrasing._ That one wasn’t even intentional. Unfortunately, Raven more than picks up on it.

“Oh, we know you can, Griff.” She says with an impish smirk as she raises her shot glass. You shoot her a glance that says _shut the fuck up_ _,_ and she has the decency to give you a slightly apologetic look back. Slightly.

Still, you decide to run with it and appear unfazed, shrugging. “Cheers to that.”

Your instinct after taking your shot is to chase it with whatever else you’re drinking, until you realize, glass halfway to your lips, that it’s also straight whiskey. Lexa notices and chuckles.

“I don’t get the impression that neat whiskey is anywhere close to your usual drink.”

“Yeah I’m gonna have to confess," You say, still wincing slightly. "I don’t think I’ve ever ordered straight whiskey. Shots don't count.”

You can feel Raven’s eyes on you, probably with some knowing hint of _I know what you’re up to, Griff_ , before she pointedly picks up the empty glasses and leaves to chat with the couple.

“So why get one?”

Why did you? Well, because you think she’s hot and you want her to like you, obviously. But you’re much smoother than that.

“I guess I like trying things that I know another person genuinely likes. Makes me feel like I’m getting to know them in a way that can’t be contrived, you know?”

“Hm.” She nods appreciatively, taking a small sip of her Bulleit. “So you want to get to know me?”

Damn, straightforward.

“Well we’re going to be coworkers for at least a year. Unless one of us gets fired or something. I think that warrants wanting to get to know you, don’t you?” It’s a playful response, paired with an accompanying little smirk and steady eye-contact that gently implies another reason you might be interested in getting to know her.

“I don’t get the impression that you’d ever do anything that would make Kane want to fire you. Employers generally don’t fire people that take pride in working hard.”

The compliment warms your chest more than you expect it to. A lot of your coworkers will comment on how hard you work, but often in a derisive way. You’ve earned the nickname “Princess” on the floor because of your decidedly higher standards.

You smile at her. “Well I guess we’re both pretty safe on that front, then.”

Lexa smiles a little. “I suppose so.” She takes another sip. “So what would I drink if I wanted to get to know you better?”

You like where this is going. “Well, I am a beer girl first and foremost.” You say, wincing down a sip of your own Bulleit. You haven’t made much progress on it; Lexa’s is about half an inch emptier than yours already. “But I love me a good cocktail. I can get down with just about anything that has gin.”

“So you like gin. Do you also like to chew on pine needles?” Lexa says dryly, and it’s so unexpected that you let out a kind of embarrassing bark-laugh in response.

“Hey now, don’t knock it ‘til you try it. They say pine needles really boost your metabolism.”

She shakes her head at you through an amused smile, which you return. The eye-contact lasts just a little longer than necessary, so you decide to test the waters.

“No seriously, gin makes everything better. I had an ex-girlfriend that would drink Moscow Mules with gin instead of vodka. Took one sip and never went back. Way more interesting flavor profile when there’s gin involved.” It’s a total lie, and you only say it knowing Raven isn’t listening in anymore, because Raven was actually there the first time you tried making a Gin Mule and drunkenly ranted about how much better it was. You say it because you want to make it very clear if it wasn’t already that you do, in fact, like girls. You subtly watch for Lexa’s reaction.

“Hm.” She nods. You have a hard time reading her, which is unusual. And possibly a large reason why you’re already so drawn to her. She eyes you for another moment before looking past you and nodding in Raven’s direction as she places her now-empty glass on the bar mat. You think, disappointed, that she’s going to leave like she did yesterday, until you realize she’s made no motion indicating she’s getting up. She wants to stay and drink more. With you.

“You want another?” Raven’s already pulled the Bulleit bottle back out.

“Actually,” She starts. “A Moscow Mule this time, but could you make it with gin?”

Raven immediately shoots an accusatory look at you. “You brainwashed her with your nasty-ass gin _already?_ ” You snap your head towards Raven when you realize you’ve kind of been staring at Lexa throughout the exchange. 

“Oh please.” You scoff. “You make your Mules with tequila. _That’s_ nasty.”

“Excuse you, tequila is fucking delicious.”

“Raven, you don’t have to act like you actually like tequila just because you’re half Puerto Rican. It’s okay to be honest.” You tease her. She really does love tequila. Maybe a little too much.

“Only if you promise to not act like you actually like whiskey neat.” She shoots back without missing a beat, raising a brow at your barely-touched Bulleit.

You nod. “Touché. I already came clean, though, remember? She knows.” There’s a double meaning there that you kind of relish in. “So you might as well make me one too. I’ll come back to the whiskey later.”

She sighs. “Two nasty-ass Mules, comin' up.”

You turn back to Lexa once Raven leaves. “So you want to get to know me?” You echo her words from earlier. The shot and half Bulleit have emboldened you just enough.

Lexa surprises you then by scooting to sit at that empty stool to the right of you, boldly reaching over to take a sip from your Bulleit. She gives you just the hint of a smirk from behind the lip of the glass as she says, “Well we’re going to be working together for a while; I think that’s warranted.” You feel your heart rate picking up, and a delighted buzz creeps under your skin, because she’s _flirting_ with you. You think. Maybe? It takes everything in you not to glance down as she swipes her tongue over her whiskey-coated lips, reaching back over to set your glass in front of you again. That’s when you notice the ink on her right arm.

“Whoa, you have a tattoo?” You hadn't noticed until now because her right side has always been facing away from you, either sitting at the bar or in the kitchen.

“You sound so surprised.” She chuckles. “I have several, actually.”

Okay, but you’re _so_ into that. At this point, _please don’t be straight, please don’t be straight_ has been playing over and over in your head like a mantra. Unfortunately, she pulls her arm back before you can get a good look at it.

“Can I…?” You nod to her arm, and then worry that there’s something personal about it, because she hesitates. But then she swivels in her stool so she’s facing away from the bar, making her right arm visible.

It’s just black line work, but so specific and almost unrefined in the style without overtly depicting anything that you suspect that there's a bigger story behind the design. “It’s beautiful.” You say, honestly, and you boldly run a finger along the edge of it. “Did you design it?” Maybe she’s an artist like you?

“No, I’m not much of an artist.” _Hm, guess not._ Lexa takes a breath. “My girlfriend did.” She says, as her eyes trace over the lines.

Your stomach simultaneously flips and drops because _not straight!!! Not straight!!!_ But also, _not single. Damn._

“Oh.” You retract your hand, probably just a little too quickly, almost as if you were burned. You chuckle. “Well, she must be pretty damn special, if you got a tattoo that she designed.”

Lexa smiles softly. “She was.” It’s almost a whisper.

You’re confused – _was? –_ until you notice the very specific kind of sadness in her eyes, still looking at her arm reverently. She lifts her other hand to trace the linework gently with her fingers, where yours were just seconds ago.

You instinctually clutch the watch on your wrist as you watch the action. “Was.” You say, and it’s not a question.

Lexa nods almost imperceptibly in response. “Vehicle accident.”

Your stomach lurches with grief for Lexa but also your own grief. Grief that usually you keep well-locked down. Vehicle accident. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Lexa. I–“ ... _k_ _now how you feel. Lost someone too. Carry a piece of him with me everywhere I go too and it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough._ The strength of the urge to say all of this to her startles you so much that you’re rendered speechless for a moment.

Finally, “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s all right," She presses her lips together, swiveling back to face the bar. "It was a long time ago.”

You want to tell her _no,_ you don’t understand. I know. _I know._ You open your mouth to say something, if you can find the right words–

“Alright.” You visibly jump as Raven suddenly appears, firmly setting two copper mugs in front of the two of you and loudly breaking the moment. “Two…gin mules…” She trails off, sheepishly backing away and walking back to the couple, having quickly realized she interrupted something.

“What about you? Any tattoos?” Lexa diverts, putting an unreadable mask on.

“Oh. No, I-“ You shake your head, searching her face, but the moment is over. You shrug. “I always liked the idea of having tattoos but I'm not sure what I'd get.” Lie. You know exactly what you’d get. “Besides, it’s been kind of drilled into me for years that tattoos are unprofessional or whatever. Before I transferred into Fine Art I was gonna be a real person with a real person job. I think subconsciously I still feel like I have to look the part.”

“You’re an artist?” Lexa asks, and you shyly smile and look at your lap when you see the genuine spark of interest in her eyes.

“Yeah.” You nod. “I mean, I'm still in school. Did you go to school? Or are you in school?”

She nods. “I finished my M.A. in Humanities this spring. I’m taking a year or two off before I pursue my Ph.D.”

Wait, what? “Oh, shit.” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“You sound so surprised.” Lexa repeats her own words from earlier with a coy grin.

“I don’t know what I expected you to say but that wasn’t it.” You shake your head at her in some kind of awe. You continue staring at her for several moments before the little alcohol buzz lets you say something you might not have otherwise. “You know, I’m usually really good at getting a read on people and understanding what they’re about right off the bat. You’re…” You gesture at her vaguely. Lexa raises a brow, prompting you to finish. You don’t know what to say that won’t come across as too much, and your heart is kind of racing, and really has been pretty much since you sat down next to Lexa, so you just chuckle. “I don’t know.”

“Are you gonna sit there making googley-eyes at each other all day or are you gonna drink your nasty-ass mules?” Raven calls from the other end of the bar, and you’re actually kind of grateful for the interruption this time.

“Are you gonna suck my dick?” You call over your shoulder without missing a beat, and Raven gives you a half-shocked, half-impressed look before shrugging at the couple still at the bar. They’re closing out now.

“She loves me.” Raven stage-whispers to them. Lexa’s hiding a smile behind her Mule when you turn back to her.

“It is better with gin.” She appraises, tapping the side of the copper mug.

“Of course it is. I would never lead you astray.” You lift your mug and tap it against the lip of hers.

You chat idly with her – she wants to teach History and Culture-focused Humanities courses. She also has a tattoo on her back, one on the back of her neck. You tell her you were in the pre-med program before switching. You don’t tell her why, even though everything in you wants to, even though you already understand the same thing in her. You tell her you focus in charcoal and some mixed media, that you want to go into illustration. She tells you with an impressed look that charcoal is a difficult medium to control, and you like that she knows that.

You think her girlfriend must’ve been an artist too.

At some point during drink number four – you each get a melon hef this time and you can tell she doesn’t really like it – Lexa excuses herself to the restroom. You watch her form weave through the now full restaurant and turn the corner into the hall with the bathrooms.

“Oh man you’re in trouble.” You hear Raven sigh behind you as she shakes a Margarita for one of Harper's tables.

“Fuck, I know.” You don’t even try to deny it, and rub at your temples as you turn back to face Raven.

“Are you really gonna pursue a coworker? What if something goes wrong?” The question is more than a little bit loaded, which instantly puts you on the defensive.

There’s some history there.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know anything, okay?” You’re pretty buzzed at this point, so the words aren’t coming out as eloquently as you’d like. “I just like talking to her and she’s pretty, and–“

“She’s coming back.” Raven says lowly through her teeth, eyes trained over your shoulder with a smile you assume is directed at Lexa.

“Can you just like…” You whisper, a little pleading, before Lexa can hear. “Let me enjoy this? I'm having a really nice time with her.”

She softens a little and gives you a private apologetic nod as Lexa slides back onto her stool, eyeing her beer with a poorly concealed wariness. You glance at your near-empty pint glass, then Lexa’s nearly-full one, while also remembering the Bulleit that you haven’t touched since you switched to new drinks. So you down the last gulp of your own beer, then, without asking, you pull hers towards you and slide the Bulleit over to her.

“Now neither of us has to struggle to finish a drink we don’t even really like.” You explain.

Lexa snorts. “Don’t get me wrong, Clarke, I do appreciate the chance to get to know you.” She taps the Bulleit glass. “But I feel like I can do that and still enjoy my whiskey.”

“And I can return to my true love, beer. Everybody wins.” A comfortable silence passes as you sip your respective drinks, but then your heart rate picks up – it’s been doing that a lot in the last couple hours – because you want to ask her - you’re a little tipsy, so you just go for it. “Do you have plans for tonight?” It’s one thing to share a few drinks with a coworker after working a shift together. It’s a whole other thing to go somewhere else with them.

Lexa shakes her head. "No plans."

You swallow. “Wanna go somewhere else? I spend too much damn time in this place as it is.” It’s a great bar, to be sure. Mostly your issue right now is it’s at peak dinner hour, and it’s gotten really loud, and cramped. You’d rather be at a non-restaurant bar that’s a little more conducive to conversation.

“Yeah, I’d like that. Did you have somewhere in mind?” She says.

A tension you didn’t realize you’d had in your shoulders releases. “Well, I have to admit the bar scene I’m familiar with is a little rowdier. My friends like to party a lot.”

She tilts her head. “And you don’t?”

“I do too, I just don’t like being out-of-control drunk the way some of them do. And I _really_ don’t like blacking out. It’ll happen on occasion, mostly thanks to Raven.” You say, intentionally loud enough for Raven to hear.

“It’s in my job description.” Raven calls from the computer without turning around. “I’m legally obligated to get Griffin absolutely shit-shmammered a minimum of four nights a year. In fact," She looks at her wrist as if checking the time. "I think we’re due for a night out soon.”

You groan. “We’ll see, Reyes. You and Bell still owe me hard for last time, since I had to open bar for him the next day.”

“Can I pay you back in shots?” She smirks.

You shake your head with a smile. “We'll see. But hey can you close us out?”

“Aw, you’re leaving me? Fine. With employee discount, shifter, staff shot, you’re each at seven even–“

“I've got hers.” You interject.

Lexa frowns at you. “You don’t have to–“

“I want to.” You say firmly, fishing out a twenty and a five and tossing them onto the bar. “That’s all you, Raven.”

“Thanks boo.” Raven calls, throwing a kissing face over her shoulder before turning back to the computer.

“Thank you, Clarke. I, uh,” Lexa takes a breath before continuing. “If you didn’t have anywhere in mind there’s a bar I know of that I’d like to take you to. I think you’d like it, but it’s not in U District so we can't just walk.”

Your stomach flips. Is this a date? This might be a date. Normally, you’re smooth and confident enough in this situation that with anyone else, you’d coyly ask them that. _Sounds like you’re taking me on a date, hot stuff._ Something along those lines. But Lexa makes you nervous. No one has made you nervous like this in a while.

“Sounds fun. I trust you.” You smile sweetly at her before downing the rest of your beer. You’re both about to turn and head out when you hear the distinct sound of shot glasses being set down on the bar.

“Didn’t I say something about paying you back in shots?” Raven grins at you both as she walks away to a new customer. “See you kids later.”

“See what I mean?” You shake your head. “Usually Raven’s fault. Cheers." 

Lexa flags down a Lyft, and you’re about to walk around to the opposite backseat door because Lexa’s opening the one facing the curb, except, _oh,_ she’s definitely opening it for you. Your stomach flutters because that’s _definitely_ a date thing. This might be a date. She slides in next to you, giving the driver some address around Capitol Hill.

Your nerves are a little buzzed – kind of on par with your slightly intoxicated state. The ten-or-so minute ride is mostly silent, though not uncomfortable. You sneak several glances at Lexa from the corner of your eye. She’s craned her neck slightly, watching the road between the passenger and driver’s seats, headlights playing over her face as cars pass, occasionally highlighting the vibrant flecks of gold in her eyes. You glance down to notice a trimmed fingernail scratching repetitively at the edge of her thumb. Maybe you’re not the only one with buzzed nerves.

You both exit the car to be greeted by a small, unassuming building with a minimalist logo – Cadmium Red – accompanied by a simplified glass of wine. Given you know your Oil hues, you put two and two together and turn to Lexa with an amused brow.

“Did you bring me to one of those places wine moms go to paint the same exact painting of a sunset, eat off of cheese plates, all while getting very drunk? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I’m a little surprised this is your scene.”

Lexa throws her head back and the most glorious laugh escapes her. You’d like to hear that sound more often.

“Not exactly, but you aren’t totally wrong; on Sundays Cad's serves mimosas and brings in brunch from this really great breakfast place a couple blocks south, and people bring in all kinds of pieces to work on. They say creativity flows better when you have a little buzz.”

“Oh, that’s…” You turn back to the sign. “This place is actually really cool.”

“You haven’t even been inside yet.” She chides playfully. “Come on.”

You don’t expect the relatively small space to be as full as it is, yet somehow without being overwhelming. The bar is long and narrow, extending to the end of the establishment, booths and tables scattered throughout the rest. There are no signs, no advertisements, no flashing _Bud Light_ neons. The back bar is lined with liquor and wine bottles, a few tap handles, but the most significant thing you notice is that the rest of the wall space is dedicated to art. _Good_ art. Like, sometimes you’ll go into a hipster place that haphazardly has local art everywhere, and you appreciate the sentiment, but you can only see so many Acrylic Heath Ledger-era Jokers or faux-edgy surrealist pieces with muddy colors and terrible composition before you’re kind of over it. Here, someone has taken the time and effort to ensure each piece is not only straight, but works well with its surrounding pieces, is properly spaced and appropriately high on the wall. They even have individual gallery lights on each piece. This is some professionally curated gallery shit right here.

“There aren’t any prices.” You observe, running a finger along the lines of a life drawing without touching it. It’s labeled only with a title and an accompanying number.

“None of them are for sale while they’re here. Cad's just borrows them for a year.”

“Lexa!” A booming voice calls from behind the bar. You might be utterly terrified of him, given his towering figure, tribal-style facial tattoo, and impressive beard, except he smiles at Lexa so warmly that you think he just looks like a very large teddy bear.

“Hey, Gus.” She says as you both stand at the end of the bar. “A little slow tonight?”

Your eyebrows shoot up as you glance at the full bar, at almost every table being occupied. _Slow?_

Gus notices your expression and chuckles at you. “My dear, if every last seat in Cad’s isn’t occupied, it’s a slow night.”

“This is Clarke. Clarke, this is Gustus, one of the co-owners.”

“Hi.” You smile, his grip is firm and strong when you shake his hand.

“What can I get for you?” You’re all too familiar with clipped small talk when you’re a bartender. He has things to do.

“Still have that 18 year Elijah Craig I like?” Lexa asks. Gus nods in response before turning to you.

“Oh. Just give me a pint of the darkest beer you have on tap.”

You continue looking around the bar, at all the different pieces of art, as he walks off to get the drinks. You’re in the middle of admiring a large oil on canvas to the left of you when Lexa breaks you out of your reverie.

“You like it?” She asks softly.

“Yeah.” You breathe, smiling. “It’s…I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this place before.”

“It’s a well-kept secret.” Lexa explains, clearly proud. “None of the University crowd really knows about it. It’s kind of an odd little place because it divides pretty cleanly between art enthusiasts with too much money on their hands and the starving artists on the walls.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re neither of those things, if you said you’re not much of an artist.”

“She’s an honorary artist.” Gus interrupts, sliding your drinks over.

“I’ve got hers.” Lexa says, pulling out her wallet.

He waves her off with a kind smile. “You’ll always drink here free of charge and so will any beautiful lady at your side.”

Your stomach flutters again for two reasons: number one, if it wasn't before, this is definitely a date now. Number two, the way Lexa looks up at Gus in surprise leads you to believe this isn’t a place she often takes dates. If ever. The thought is a little overwhelming.

“Thank you, Gus.”

“Of course. Enjoy.” Lexa still leaves a five on the table as you both move to a small two-seated table.

“You drink here for free?”

“A lot of the artists in here do.”

You shake your head in confusion. “That’s crazy. How does the place sustain itself?”

She smirks. “Because the drinks are about twice as expensive as they should be. Most people don’t question it, because everything they sell is from independent wineries or distilleries and they cycle everything through all the time. But that doesn’t stop the rich hipsters, even celebrities, from coming in and throwing their money at Gus.”

“Smart.” You nod appreciatively. “What does it take for you to get to drink for free?”

“Them to like your art enough to put it up.” She gestures her glass to the walls. “You drink for free until a new piece cycles through and replaces yours. Takes about a year.”

“So they must be constantly putting new art up, then.”

Lexa nods, looking around the bar. “They try to acquire at least one new piece that they like every week, and spend Monday mornings re-arranging everything.” A pause. “Only a handful of pieces have a permanent home here.” She says, and you follow her gaze as she says this to a relatively small pen and ink piece, purely design, almost geometric in its familiar style, hanging in a very centric way behind the bar.

You think you understand why Lexa drinks for free. “Is your honorary art one of them?” You ask gently.

Lexa looks back at you, a hint of surprise in her expression, and nods.

“Will…” You hesitate, because this is probably too much. But the alcohol is letting you ask things you’d normally have boundaries for. “Will you tell me about her?”

Lexa searches your eyes for a moment before speaking. “Her name was Costia. We met when we were teenagers, when I was still in the system. She was always doodling, even with no paper – that’s how this happened originally.” Lexa lifts her tattooed arm. "Black Sharpie, lying on a blanket in the park."

You smile softly at the image, and you've started absentmindedly tracing the curves of the watch. “How long ago?”

“Three years.” She says. Then, “You’ve lost someone, too.”

Your eyes snap up to meet hers, and they’re soft with understanding. She glances down to your wrist, then back up. Apparently you’re not the only perceptive person here.

“My dad." You chuckle sharply, humorlessly, "Also three years.”

Lexa’s gaze is so gentle, and you can tell she’s giving you the space to decide whether you want to tell her any more. You don’t really tell people about what happened. You’ve hardly even spoken to your mother about it. And still, her eyes are so inviting, so understanding that it feels like a floodgate opening when you begin to speak.

“He…” You breathe, voice trembling slightly. “He died in my arms. I couldn’t stop the bleeding, he…” You shake your head. “My mom and I were both on the driver’s side, so we were fine. She was unconscious, couldn’t help me. Here I am, about to go into my Senior year of pre-med, and I can’t stop his bleeding. Plastic shrapnel from the door had pierced a major artery in his upper abdomen and - he was gone before the paramedics got there. And he was totally calm, he kept telling me it was gonna be okay, that I was gonna be okay.” You realize angry tears have begun to cloud your vision and you try blinking them away. Instead, they just fall down your cheeks.

Oh my god, what are you _doing?_ “I’m so sorry, you don’t want to hear about this.” You sniffle, frantically looking around to see if anyone has noticed. You’re in a _bar,_ what are you doing? “I haven’t been like this in a while, I’m sorry–“

“Clarke.” Lexa’s soft voice interrupts. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” You shake your head furiously, wiping at your eyes, careful of your makeup. “I’m such a mess, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Clarke.” Lexa says, firm but gentle. “I understand.”

You know she does. You know she does, and she still carries herself with such calm, such assuredness. All you are is rage and confusion and grief beneath the surface, if anybody had ever bothered to look that far, and somehow Lexa found that without even really trying. You wonder what lies beneath hers.

It scares you how much you ache to understand her.

You chuckle. “I can’t say I’ve ever cried on a first date before. I’d probably have nope’d the hell out of here ages ago if I were you.” It’s a pretty blatant redirection towards a lighter mood, which Lexa thankfully, graciously, accepts, taking a sip of her whiskey.

“I don’t remember saying anything about a date.” She teases.

“Even worse. Some random coworker just starts crying while you’re trying to have a casual conversation over drinks? Run for the hills.”

“Normally, sure. Though I can make an exception in this case, I think.”

“Is it because I’m so… _exceptional_?” This is good. Getting back to the banter is good.

“You could say that.” Lexa smiles at you over her drink, and it’s too sincere, and your stomach is fluttering again. And she’s looking at you like she’s known you for years, with a disarming softness.

This is all so much. Lexa is so much.

“Okay, question.” You break the moment, because it’s too much. “Would it be in poor taste to order shots in a place like this?”

Lexa shakes her head at you, grinning. “Clarke, you keep telling me it’s your friends that party hard, not you, and I just don’t know if I believe you.”

“Oh, make no mistake.” You say after a generous gulp of beer. “I’m absolutely the mom-friend. You know how many times I’ve held Raven's hair while she puked? I’ve seen some shit.” You jokingly stare into the distance, as if recalling the horrors of war.

“Come on.” Lexa nods to the bar through a small chuckle.

You’re leaning against the bar waiting for Gus, watching Lexa’s profile when you reach up without really thinking about it to cup her face, turning it towards you with one hand while you brush the soft skin under her eye with your other. The action surprises Lexa in the sense that her lips part just slightly and you notice her glance down to your own lips.

“Eyelash.” You explain in a whisper. You quickly pull your hand back before you do something stupid, like brush your thumb over her lower lip, just to see if it feels as soft as it looks.

You’re saved by Gus, who is more than happy to pour two shots. Whiskey, of course. You both shoot them quickly, throw a tip down, and Lexa turns to go back to the two-person table, but you gently take her wrist and direct her to a small circular booth in the back corner instead. It’s darker over here, more secluded. She slides in first, and you slide in right next to her, much closer than necessary, knees and shoulders touching. You never really allow the conversation to go back to anything too serious, which seems to suit Lexa fine. She tells you more about her kind of tumultuous upbringing, and that’s as close as you get. As the night moves on a couple more drinks embolden you, and you find yourself running the edge of your foot over her calf, laughing over a story Lexa is telling you about Anya when she was a teenager – she grew up in the system too, that’s how they know each other. Her story reminds you of one with Bellamy, which halfway through telling her finds you with a hand on Lexa’s knee.

You finish the story and contemplate her for a moment before blurting:

“It’s funny actually. On your first day, Bellamy said you were a bitch.” You slap a hand to your mouth as your eyes widen. “Shit, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“It’s fine.” Lexa chuckes lightly. “I’m no stranger to what people sometimes say about me.”

“No, no, like. The reason I said that was because I remember him saying that really pissing me off.” You shake your head, unconsciously pressing circles into the side of her knee with your thumb. “Because he didn’t know you at all, you know? Like what a shitty snap judgment to make from just one day of working together.”

“Hm.” Lexa tilts her head just slightly, curious, as you continue.

“Like from the second you told me our whiskey selection was garbage, I could tell he thought I’d be pissed off, but I was just like.” You shake your head at her, almost in awe. “Hooked.”

Lexa searches your face with an open expression, before taking a breath and clenching her jaw, as if deciding something.

Her lips are pressed to yours before you’ve even completely registered what’s happening, and they’re just as soft as you’d imagined. It’s chaste, sweet, and she lingers for a moment before pulling away, but still close enough that your noses brush lightly, and you realize it’s a silent question. _Is this okay?_

 _It’s more than okay._ You answer, bringing your free hand up to gently cup her jaw, angling slightly to give her a deeper, surer kiss. Lexa breathes out deep in response, and you’re overwhelmed by this vanilla, wood floral scent that’s enveloping you. A tongue almost involuntarily swipes over her lip and you taste the sharp bite of whiskey – and you can’t even stop yourself from opening your mouth wider, prompting, tasting her own velvet tongue. A soft sigh that’s dangerously close to a moan escapes you and you press further, kiss deeper, grip firmer, until you’ve moved a hand to her waist and she suddenly pulls away, breaths heavy, lips swollen.

“Sorry.” You say, licking your lips. “I got a little carried away.”

Lexa lets out a breathy chuckle, eyes still closed. “So did I.”

“Oh my god.” You groan. “I’m _that_ person. I’m _never_ that person.” You look around at the bar, now a little more dissipated. Thankfully, no one’s seemed to notice except Gus, who’s just smiling and shaking his head as he polishes a wine glass.

“The kind that makes out in bars you mean?” Lexa teases you, a thumb brushing over the outside of your thigh. You don’t remember how you became so wrapped up in each other.

“Yeah, that person. That’s usually Bellamy, or Lincoln and Octavia.”

“Hm.” Lexa hums, eyes open again but now just fixed on your lips.

 _God._ You glance at your almost empty drinks and don’t let yourself think too hard before you turn back to her and ask, “You wanna go somewhere else?”

“Sure, where?” She still keeps glancing down at your lips and it’s making it hard for you to be subtle.

For pleasantries’ sake: “I know a couple places nearby that are cool.” Lie. You’d have to Yelp it. What you really mean: “Or I could fix us something at my place.”

You leave the door open, and she visibly gulps, which is _so_ cute, before she straightens and raises a playful brow. “As long as the only thing you have isn’t beer.”

Your heart rate quickens. _She’s going for it._ Be cool. “What kind of bartender would I be if it was?”

You flag down a Lyft this time; you live pretty close to The Library, in U District, so it’s a solid ten minutes before you get there, which gives you plenty of time to be kind of entranced by the way headlights dance over the curve of her neck, catching in the slightest of red in her hair. You have to physically restrain yourself from making a move in the Lyft ride, but you definitely sit _way_ closer than you need to, and rest a hand on her thigh for the duration of the ride back.

You’re fumbling your keys when you arrive at your apartment door.

“I live with Octavia and Raven, but Octavia usually stays at Lincoln’s, and Raven’s closing bar, so.” _So we have the place to ourselves._

“Is it hard to work with the people you live with?” Lexa asks as you bump the stubborn front door open with your shoulder. It’s not much; clearly a three bed for three girls who are trying to pay for college.

“Sometimes. We’ve had some conflicts but we’ve always worked them out.” Like when you first started working there, and Finn was a bartender, and you didn’t know he was Raven’s on-and-off ex until you brought him home with you one drunken night and he didn’t realize whose apartment it was until the next morning. With Raven in the living room. That was a whole shit show – she didn’t speak to you for weeks. And then he got fired and Raven took his place and does a way better job bartending than he ever had, anyway.

And here you are again, bringing home another coworker.

You shake your head, snapping yourself out of your thoughts. “What would you like?” You say, tossing your purse onto the counter, trying not to be distracted by the way she follows your movement just with her eyes, lean arms resting against the kitchen island. “I don’t have any nice whiskey, but I have copper mugs and Absolut, Tanqueray, José, limes, Jameson, ginger beer, tonic, I can make sweet and sour, there’s some OJ in there, a couple PBRs…”

Lexa quirks her brow with the hint of a smirk at you like _I really just don’t care._

You make two Mules with Jameson, just to shake it up, and move to stand next to her at the island, leaning one elbow on the counter and facing her, matching her pose. The clock on the wall reads 11:28 – Raven won’t be home for around three hours. You don’t work tomorrow morning.

“Are you working tomorrow?” You ask. Lexa shakes her head, taking a sip of her Mule. It’s almost embarrassing how blatantly you stare when she licks her lips afterwards. She catches you in the act, subtly quirking her brow. She does that a lot. It doesn’t help.

 _Fuck it._ You set down your untouched mule and cross the space between you two until Lexa’s back is pressed against the counter and your arms are at either side of her, faces so close that your breaths mingle.

“I thought we’d get through a drink at least.” Lexa teases, a chiding whisper.

“You’re too distracting.” Is all you say before you plummet, crashing your open mouth against hers and _god._ You should feel embarrassed by the sigh that escapes you as you move your lips against hers, drinking her in, feeling the cold from the copper mug on her lips for a few seconds before it’s extinguished by the heat of your tongue. But you don’t. At some point she must set her drink down, because both her hands are in your hair now, tugging gently, stroking at the nape of your neck.

Your hands are frantic, clutching at shoulders, squeezing her waist, pressing against her ribs. You relish in the way she bites her lip as you move yours to press hot kisses along the column of her throat, pausing occasionally to suck at the skin there – not enough to leave a mark. You’re more courteous than that. Fingers trail along the hem of her loose tank, lifting just enough to be a question, not a demand. Lexa lifts her arms in response, breathless as you roughly tug it over her head, a mess of waves falling over her face as you return to her lips, hungry.

It’s too desperate, you realize, as she tries to slow you down. Definitely not stop you, if a lithe hand cupping over your breast is any indication – _god –_ but definitely to calm you down.

Your heart is racing.

“Which room is yours?” Lexa breathes, breaking your kiss and pushing off from the kitchen island.

“It’s–“ You practically heave as you say it. “C’mere.” You take her hand, leading her to the last door in the hall. The door is barely even closed when Lexa presses you against it, silky in her movements, so smooth that you hardly notice when your shirt falls to the floor. She trails her long fingers along your sides and your back, pressing slow kisses to your collarbone, gently sucking on your earlobe. You only notice her fiddling your bra clasp because she whispers, _“Can I?”_ into your ear to ask if she can unhook it.

 _“Yes.”_ You breathe, more desperately than you mean to, and she slowly, painfully unclasps it and slides it off your arms, ghosting her fingers over them in its wake. It’s a contrast to the frantic, fumbling way you take hers off, throwing it to the ground like it offends you.

“Bed.” You almost growl, pushing her off of you and leading her backwards until the backs of her legs hit the bed and she sits at the edge of it. You waste no time, immediately straddling her as you recapture her lips and rake your nails along her naked back, eliciting a gasp, before bringing them to the swell of her breasts, rolling hard nipples between your fingertips.

“Clarke.” Lexa whines into your mouth, high-pitched, and the sound sends a jolt of arousal right between your legs.

You’re just about to pin her down roughly when the smooth hands that have been trailing all along your torso suddenly grip at your ass and she uses the leverage to lift you – fucking _lift_ you – turning around so your back is to the bed. You swear to god you have no idea how she can do this so gracefully but she’s laid you down on your bed and settled between your legs, making painfully slow work of pulling your jeans down your legs.

None of your lights are on, but you always have a string of white Christmas lights lining your window, which lets you see a softly lit Lexa watching you with dark eyes as she pulls off the last leg of your pants.

The intensity of her green eyes was one of the first things that drew you to her, but it’s almost too much right now, and you have to push yourself back up to kiss up her stomach before the way she looks at you overwhelms you. You’re fumbling with the button of her own black jeans – you’re fumbling a lot right now – until she takes over and slides them off, then pushes you back onto the bed.

And it’s so slow, everything she does is so slow and deliberate that your senses are going into overdrive and it’s giving your buzzed mind way too much time to _think_ and what you keep thinking is how out of control this feels, and it feels _good_. The softness of her eyes and her hands and her mouth feels fucking incredible as she moves further down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. But it’s not how you usually do this. It’s not how you usually do this because usually you’re drunk and they’re drunk and you’re desperate to feel, and you don’t really care about each other.

Except you care about Lexa. It scares you how much you already care about Lexa, after one fucking day. You think she cares about you too, and that might scare you even more.

Lexa must notice something’s going on in your head because she pulls her mouth away from your chest to lift herself so she’s eye-level with you again. She’s searching your eyes, and you wonder if she knows what you’re thinking.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, breathless. “You’re…” You snake a hand around the back of her head, pulling her down so your foreheads are pressed together. So she can’t keep looking at you like _that._

If she does, you think something in you might break.

“You’re _intoxicating._ ” You finally finish, rolling your body up into hers, placing a thigh between her legs as you whisper the words into her mouth.

Lexa lets out a breathy laugh that might actually be closer to a strangled sigh, before biting her lip and rolling her hips right back, right where you need her.

_Fuck._

“Are you sure that’s not the alcohol?” She teases, moving back down your body like she had been, though faster this time. She kisses blooming red marks where she knows no one will see them, making her way down until she’s nibbling at the soft dip of your hips, and you’re running your hands all through her hair, practically writhing underneath her.

Then she stops, fingers tracing the line of your underwear, and looks up to silently ask for permission one last time.

“Fuck.” You sigh, high pitched and greedy as you lift your hips in response, and she wastes no time in pulling your underwear down. Lexa hooks her arms around your legs so that they rest on her biceps, her fingers splaying over your trembling stomach as she brushes a nose up the inside of your thigh, warm breath ghosting over your center. Lexa’s looking up at you through her dark lashes as she does this, and you have to close your eyes and tilt your head to the side, because it’s not teasing. The soft brush of her lips – _right_ where you need them, god – isn’t playful or intended to frustrate you. It’s reverent.

Your mouth drops open when she finally closes her mouth around you, sucking lightly.

She builds you up slowly. You think that, based on her intuitive touches so far, she could have gotten you off within minutes had she been trying to. And that’s usually how these things go for you. It’s about getting off, quick and easy, and passing out. Sometimes sneaking out.

Lexa either wants you to savor this, or she wants to savor you. Maybe both.

Even when she reaches up to palm a breast, or you unthinkingly reach down to intertwine your fingers with her other hand, firm, because you need her to tether you, she’s gentle. She’s gentle, and sure, bringing you up on this wave, slowly increasing pressure in a way that starts to steal the breath from your lungs. The white noise of pleasure rings through your body, down your spine, under Lexa’s lips, all the way up to your own, to your heels digging into the mattress.

Firm hands secure your hips into a steady rhythm, and you realize that you’ve been uncontrollably vocal throughout, unintelligible save for the occasional sigh of Lexa’s name. God, you’re _so_ out of control right now, and it’s terrifying, and incredible, and – and as if she can sense that fear, she squeezes your hand, and moves the other to grasp the wrist of the one you hadn’t even realized you’d tangled through her hair. As if to tell you _I’ve got you. You’re safe._

So you let go.

Your back arches, rigid, as pleasure washes over you in a shimmering tsunami so strong it pulls a long moan that you couldn’t have kept in if you’d tried. You’re quivering as wave after wave ebbs through you, Lexa with you and helping you ride it out the entire time, humming against you as she does. She’s there with you until your hips stop moving, until you settle into a calm static of post-orgasmic bliss, mouth agape, heart pounding fiercely. Even then, she’s there, breathing warm against you in between soft kisses at the inside of your thigh, the crease of your hip, then finally tilting her head to press a firm one at the inside of your wrist as she rubs her thumb over your knuckles.

It's at that action that you finally look down at her, and it’s a mistake, because she’s meeting your eyes with that same gaze that you’ve been avoiding all night, lips gently pressed against your wrist, and it’s all so fucking _intimate,_ and you break.

You quickly look away, throwing an arm over your face, but it’s no use. Hot tears are already spilling into your hair, a sniffle escapes you, and Lexa’s back up at your side and stroking the little hairs at the nape of your neck before you can begin to try to compose yourself. She doesn’t say anything, and it doesn’t last long enough to make any kind of big deal of it, but she’s there with comforting touches regardless.

“Sorry.” You sniffle. “That’s…” You let out a watery chuckle. “I don’t usually do that, I swear.”

“It’s okay.” Lexa whispers into the curve of your shoulder, and you let her lift you just slightly so that she can pull your blankets over both of you, nestling herself so she’s draped over your side, her breath tickling your neck. Inwardly you shake your head at yourself, because _you_ were the one all over her, that asked her to come over, and here you are, ruining the mood by crying. You’ll certainly have to make it up to her next time.

 _Next time._ It’s how casually you think this that stops you dead in your train of thought. And then suddenly you’re panicking because you literally met Lexa _yesterday_ and you’ve already had sex – like, really intimate sex – and you’re jumping into this so much faster than you should be. And the way Lexa’s been looking at you, like. And the way she knew what you were thinking, how she slowed you down because she could tell that you were putting on a front of desperation because you were scared and nervous.

It’s been a _day._ She’s your fucking _coworker._

Fuck. This is not a good idea.

You wait for what seems like forever for Lexa’s breathing to even, thoughts still locked in panic mode, before gently sliding out from next to her. You put on a pair of cloth shorts and an old tee before slipping out the bedroom door, and you pretend not to notice Lexa’s half-lidded eyes silently watching you as you leave.

It takes two glasses of ice water and probably a half hour of biting your nails before you can gather your thoughts. You can’t play this off as some casual hookup, not after fucking crying after sex. And you don’t think you’d have it in you to lie to her anyway. Raven will be home soon. Lexa can sleep in your bed, and you’ll just crash with Raven, and get up early to make sure you can talk to her when she leaves your room. _Fuck_. Everything’s going to be weird now. Why did you do this?

Except then you hear the knob of your door turn, and the pad of footsteps down the hall. Lexa turns the corner, fully dressed save for her tank top, which is on the floor next to your feet.

“Are you heading out?” You ask quietly, even though you know the only reason she got dressed and ready to go in the first place was because you got out of bed and never came back. She thinks you want her to leave. Which technically you suppose you do, except you don’t. Fuck.

“Yes. It’s late.” Lexa pulls her tank top back over her head, sliding her keys and wallet from the counter, walking over to lean against the wall by the door as she slips her shoes on. You try not to be distracted by the way her long hair cascades over one shoulder as she loops her lanyard around her neck.

“Listen, Lexa,” You start, and she looks up from straightening the hem of her tank. Her eyes are guarded as she patiently waits for you to continue. Except you don’t know that you want to. _Fuck._ “I don’t usually do this.” You say, and you wonder if she knows that when you say you don’t usually do this, you don’t mean hook-ups, because you do that often enough. You just don’t do hookups with people you actually like, cry after the first time you have sex with them, and then continue to see them. Lexa nods, and now her eyes are completely unreadable. “I’m not…” You hope she understands. “I’m not in the right place to be seeing anyone right now.” She nods, and you see a flash of disappointment cross her face before it’s masked and unreadable again. There’s no resentment that you can see.

“I understand, Clarke.” Lexa says it softly, truthfully. And _fuck,_ she’s so understanding, and you keep thinking how much you want to tell her _it’s me, it’s me, I’m fucked up, you’re incredible, I don’t know why I’m even doing this, I’m just freaked out by how much this is all at once._ Except you’re stubborn, and you don’t tell her that, but then you think about work again and sleeping with coworkers and that reinforces your decision.

You’ve opened your mouth to say something else – what, _sorry?_ – except then the door bursts open loudly. An exasperated Raven storms in while Jasper and Bellamy stumble in behind her and Lincoln follows with a 12-rack of Rainier and Octavia draped over his side.

“Heyyyyyyy!” Jasper calls to you giddily. “It’s a party now!”

“First, shots for me. It’s my turn to get drunk now, assholes.” Raven growls as she yanks open a cupboard for the bottle of José. “They’ve been a pain in my ass since kitchen closed. Bell over here was supposed to help me close bar, but since it was a little slower than normal _someone_ felt the need to feed everyone – himself included – a fuck ton of shots.”

“It was slow!” Bellamy protests. “And I let her keep all the tips from the tabs at the end. I think that’s fair, right?”

“Lexa, hey.” Lincoln says, surprised. Everyone turns to look at her, having walked right past her as they entered. Well, this is awkward.

“Lincoln.” Lexa nods simply, face impassive.

“Are you…” Jasper gestures to Raven, who’s pouring several shots. “Staying and hanging out?” He asks Lexa this as if he hopes the answer is no, which bristles you. He must’ve already heard from Bell that she’s a bitch, because he hasn’t even worked with her yet.

Lexa shakes her head as she opens the front door. “No, thank you. I have to head out. It was good to see you all for a second, though, however brief.” She looks at you now, and her voice is soft. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” You say it softly back as she leaves, her eyes lingering on you before she’s out of sight behind the door. It shuts, and part of you wants to go out there and tell her to wait, come hang out with us, they’ll see how great you are, they’re just dickbags. But that’s not an option.

You’re still staring at the door when you realize that everyone in the room is silently staring at you.

“What?” You say sharply, glaring at all of them. Jasper instantly makes a _yikes!_ face and turns to the living area to sit, cracking open a beer. Octavia shrugs and joins him, but Lincoln, Raven, and Bell are all still staring at you.

“Well that was weird.” Raven cuts the tense silence.

Bell pointedly eyes your getup – thrown on shorts and tee, probably really obvious sex hair. Hopefully no tear streaks. That opens a whole other can of worms. He raises his brows at you with a gross little smirk and the question is obvious. _Did you just get some?_ You ignore him and snap your fingers at Raven.

“Give me one of those.”

Raven rolls her eyes at you. “I’m not on the clock anymore, princess.” Still, she pulls out a shot glass for you and pours you one as well. Everyone takes them in the kitchen, and Raven lingers next to you at the counter as everyone moves over to the living area. She turns to you with stern eyes once she feels like they’re out of earshot.

“You have tear streaks.” She says lowly. “What the fuck happened? Are you okay? Did…did she–“

“No, no. Raven, god, no.” You wave her off, quickly wiping under your eyes, because the thought of Lexa doing anything to hurt you is completely unfathomable.

“You guys had sex though? I’m assuming, based on _that_ hot mess.” She gestures to your hair.

You glare at her.

“That’s a yes.” Raven nods. “You’re not drunk.” She states, confused, and it’s true. Aside from the shot you took two seconds ago, it’s been a couple hours since you’ve had anything to drink, and even then you weren’t drunk.

But god, did she make you feel drunk.

You shake your head out of that thought. “No, not drunk.” You sigh, closing your eyes as you rub your brow.

“So are you gonna fucking tell me what happened or what?” Raven says after a beat.

“ _Fuck,_ I don’t even know.” You shake your head, running a hand through your hair in an attempt to smooth is down. “We left you and she took me to this really incredible bar that like doubles as an art gallery, and we talked for a while. She’s so…” _Interesting, special, understanding, unlike anyone I’ve ever met._ “I don’t know. And then she kissed me and I got totally carried away and invited her back here for,” You put up air quotes, “’drinks,’ and then, yeah, we had sex.”

“Uh-huh.” Raven looks at you skeptically. “That doesn’t explain the tear streaks.”

You groan. “I sort of…cried. After.”

“You _what?_ ” She gapes at you, trying not to laugh. “Oh, that’s embarrassing. I’d probably leave too, if I was her.”

You glare at her. “Real sensitive there, Raven. Thanks.”

“Okay but you’ve never done that before. Was it that bad?” She jokes, then shakes her head and snaps back into serious mode since you’re still glaring. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’m done. Why did that happen though? She must’ve felt so awkward.”

She thinks you embarrassed yourself by crying, and that Lexa got uncomfortable about it and decided to leave. Part of you wants to vent to her about how it didn’t make her uncomfortable at all, she was so fucking sweet to you about it, and that the reason you cried in the first place was because no one has made you feel so special in fucking _ages_. You want to tell her Lexa realized _you_ were uncomfortable and scared and left because of that, and that you told her you couldn’t do this with her, and she was still so damn understanding, and that you’re a fuckup.

Instead, you say, “Yeah, it was pretty awkward. I might just be PMSing or something, I don’t know what that was about.” Lie. _Lie lie lie._

“That sucks, Griff. Sorry.” She gives you a sympathetic look, which you don’t deserve at all. “Are you going to see her again or did it get too awkward?”

“Well I’m going to see her just about every day at work, so.”

“Oh, fuck, I forgot about that.” Raven clasps a hand over her mouth. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“When do you have to work with her again?”

“Day after tomorrow.” You wave Raven off. “It’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with worse, obviously.”

Raven narrows her eyes at you for a moment before conceding a shrug. There’s no bad blood about Finn anymore but it’s certainly not something either of you bring up lightly.

“Anyway.” You yawn as convincingly as possible. “On that note, I’m going to bed. Also,” You gesture your head over to everyone in the living area. “If you could go ahead and not tell everybody that I cried after sex tonight, that’d be great.”

Raven groans dramatically. “Fiiiiiine. I’ll keep your dirty secret.”

You call goodnight to everyone, and they all moan in disappointment before you turn the corner to go into your room, not bothering to get ready for bed or anything.

You bury your face into one of your pillows, and unconsciously breathe in deeper, because it still holds that dizzying vanilla wood floral scent.

God, you’re so fucked.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is already ending up longer than I expected. Originally it was just a two-shot in my mind. When I finished the first chapter I realized I needed three, now I'm thinking it'll be four or even five. 
> 
> Also, there's a small change that's important to note here - in the first chapter Jasper was a server. He's part of kitchen staff under Lexa now.

Raven is at the kitchen island with coffee ready when you come out before work two days later.

“You’re up early for a Sunday.” You quip.

“Hangover.” She replies simply as you fill a mug for yourself.

“Mm.” You reply, because you know that means she does not want to be talked to, looked at, or breathed in the general direction of. Which is why you’re surprised when she keeps talking to you.

“Today’s the day, huh?”

“What do you mean?” You know what she means. You’ve been up since 6AM thinking about it, not able to go back to sleep.

“You know what I mean.” She knows you too damn well. “I saw how you were with her the other night. You liked her.” _Liked._ Past tense.

“It’ll be fine.” You say. “We’re both professionals.”

“Right, says the bartender.” Raven rolls her eyes at you. “Has she texted you or anything since the other night?”

You let out a derisive chuckle. “I don’t even have her number.” You wanted to text her. As soon as your head hit that pillow, and the smell of her hair was still lingering there, one of your first instincts was to reach for your phone, and you’ve itched to text her since. You’d see something that would remind you of something you’d talked about with her – a gorgeous linework shoulder cap tattoo you saw on Tumblr yesterday that reminded you of Costia’s style, for instance – and want to chat with her about it. Which is absurd. This is post-breakup type behavior, and you’ve known her for what, three days? The fact that you’re itching to text someone whose phone number you’ve never even had is just fucking crazy.

“Oh, ouch, okay.” Raven makes a sympathetic wincing face at you.

Raven’s a whole lot closer to getting what the situation actually is than anyone else. Bell, and by extension Octavia and Jasper all think that you hooked up with Lexa because she’s hot, and since she’s such a “bitch,” you didn’t want to see her again and it was a one-time thing. They may even think you asked her to leave that night. Raven seems to understand that you actually like Lexa. She just thinks you embarrassed yourself too much for anything to really come to fruition with her, or that Lexa’s indifferent.

None of them know that Lexa’s actually pretty fucking great and you’re just a moron and probably ruined even any chance of being friends with her.

“It’ll be fine.” You repeat.

As you walk into The Library, your heart is pounding, and your hands tremble as you punch in your PIN to clock in at the computer.

“Morning guys!” You call to them, not ready to look over as you do so. Lincoln is the only one that actually responds audibly. Lexa’s here, of course, along with Lincoln and Indra, and then Wells and Maya will be the servers. It’s a good, hardworking group of people for a Sunday morning.

You steady yourself after you’ve grabbed a towel and put your things away, then turn to face the kitchen, and your heart skips a beat because Lexa is already watching you, unabashedly. You offer her a small smile – if she were closer, she’d see that it’s unsteady and almost trembling – and she offers the hint of a genuine one back before returning to her prep work.

It pisses you off, if you’re honest. She should be trying to avoid you, not giving you kind smiles. You avoid looking over at her again, but it’s an open kitchen, and you still know exactly where she is out of the corner of your eye at any given time.

You start cutting some limes, maybe a little too aggressively, when Lexa comes out with her water bottle once again. She’s filling it, slowly as _fuck,_ _god_ you hate that damn gun, and your shoulders tense for the entire thirty seconds it takes for the bottle to fill. You’re ready to ease the tension once she turns back to the kitchen, except she starts walking towards you, and your hand slips–

“Shit.” You hiss as you feel your knife slice into the meat of your thumb, then, “ _Fuck!”_ As you feel the harsh sting of the lime juice.

“You okay?” Lexa reaches for your hand, concerned, and you jerk away from her way more forcefully than necessary.

“I’m fine.” You bite. She freezes, and you realize how aggressively you're coming across, so you soften. “I’m okay. I’m just clumsy, this happens to me all the time.” Lie. You’ve literally never cut yourself while prepping garnishes. Blood has started seeping out, so you start searching for the first aid kit in the many drawers behind the bar, which exposes your lie a little bit, because you have absolutely no idea where it is.

“I’ve got it.” Lexa says, and turns around briskly to the kitchen, returning moments later with a band-aid. She nods behind her. “It happens a lot more in there.”

“Thank you.” You say quietly. She gives you one of her soft smiles in response. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” You shake your head. “Raven put me in a bad mood this morning before I got here. She was hungover and mean as hell.”

 _Sorry, Raven,_ you think. But it’s better than saying _I’m pissed at you but not actually you, I’m pissed at myself because you have no reason to be kind to me, and also you’re really pretty and I’m annoyed by how nervous and by extension clumsy I get when you’re around._

“It’s alright.” Lexa replies, and she just stands there and watches you as you wrap your thumb with the band-aid. Why is she just standing there? Your hands are shaking just slightly, and you hope she doesn’t notice. She probably does. You awkwardly rub at your thumb, not making eye contact, until she speaks again. “I need to cash out, will you open the drawer for me?”

“Oh.” She actually needs something from you. Because you’re at work, and you’re coworkers. “Yeah, of course, sorry. Are we out of something?”

“We’re low on tomatoes. I think someone was using double portions on LTOPs last night, or cut them too thick yesterday morning.”

You nod, punching in your PIN and hitting the No Sale button to open the drawer, trying to ignore the way your body warms with her standing just behind you, looking over your shoulder.

“All yours.” You say, stepping away farther than necessary. “And you can actually use your clock-in PIN to open the drawer, just so you know. And that way I won’t need to do it for you.” That came out kind of bitchy, _shit_. “Not that I mind. Just for, you know, efficiency’s sake. If we ever get in a pinch in the middle of dinner rush or something, and you need to go get something, you know.” Shut up. “So yeah, just so you know.”

Lexa’s got this infuriating hint of a smirk at the corner of her lips as she listens to you ramble, pulling out a twenty and pushing the drawer shut. “I’ll keep it in mind from now on. Thank you, Clarke.”

“No problem.” You say, lightly scratching your brow with your pinky. You haven’t been able to make eye contact with her throughout the entire exchange. God, what is _wrong_ with you?

It feels like you can finally breathe when she walks out the door to get tomatoes from down the street. More stocking needs to be done today than the last time you opened, since Bell closed last night and didn’t really do any, but you’re early anyway and you take a minute or two to rest your chin on your arms at the food window, watching Lincoln and Indra work.

“You look stressed out there, Clarke.” Lincoln says, barely looking up from slicing cucumbers. Lincoln’s a pretty perceptive guy. You’re fairly sure he knows what’s up.

“Something like that.” You sigh, biting your lip.

He looks up at you again, prompting you to continue, and you would, except you’re at work, and you don’t know Indra that well, and you’re pretty sure she and Lexa were good friends long before you started working there. You pointedly look at her as she’s kneading dough before looking back at him like _maybe later._ He returns to the cucumbers with a nod.

By the time Lexa gets back, Wells and Maya are both already here. Maya is sweet – a little on the quiet and reserved side for a server but ultimately she works hard and serves her tables well. When it’s dead you chat with Wells about how his job hunt is going – not well – and he makes light of the situation. You know it’s hard for him to be forced to work at the restaurant that his father owns when he already has a degree. You thankfully don’t have to directly interact much with Lexa before the end of your shift, and this gives you a lot of time to mull over the situation. And you realize you’re being an idiot.

4 o’clock rolls around, Bell takes over, and Lexa takes her usual spot at the end of the bar.

“Hey.” You say, sliding into the stool next to her after you’ve clocked out and poured yourself a shifter.

She straightens, surprised. “Clarke.”

“I’m sorry for being weird earlier.” You say, point-blank. Rip it off like a band-aid. “And for the other night.” _Sorry for opening up more than I ever expected to then immediately pushing you out._ “I want us to be friends. We can do that, right?”

You already know she can. All day she’s acted towards you as if nothing happened. Most of what you’re saying is directed at yourself, with Lexa as a witness.

“I want that too, Clarke.” Lexa nods, voice soft. Her eyes are searching yours, in that same unreadable yet open stare that makes no sense. The way she looks at you in general simultaneously locks your gaze and desperately makes you want to look away. You’re stubborn, though, so you don’t. You wonder if other people experience this effect with her, or if it’s just you.

You nod back, swallowing. “Good.” You can’t do it anymore; you break the eye contact, turning to face the bar with a chuckle. “We’re gonna have to spend a lot of time together, so that’s good.”

You sit there for a moment in silence, sipping on your drinks.

“Oh, hey.” You remember, pulling out your phone. “I saw something yesterday that I wanted to show you.” _Friends._ It’s not weird. You pull up Tumblr and show her the photo of the tattoo that you’d been itching for her to see. “It reminded me of Costia’s style. I thought you might like to see it.”

A soft smile pulls at Lexa’s lips as she looks at the picture. “It is similar.” Her eyes scan over the screen of your phone. “You would think someone that follows,” She squints at the text. “ _Fuckyeahtattoos_ ,” She raises an amused brow. “Would actually have tattoos.”

The sound of Lexa saying ‘fuck’ seems so foreign, and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “I also follow _Fuckyeahmathandsciencetattoos_.”

“Hm.” She nods appreciatively. “Planning on getting a tattoo of the quadratic formula?”

You snort mid-sip, almost spitting some of your beer. “I’ll have to add that to the list of potential tattoos.” You say, wiping your mouth with a chuckle.

“What else is on the list?” She asks, leaning on her elbow and turning to face you more fully.

You divert. “I mean I always wanted to get a _No Ragrets_ script tattoo under my collarbones.”

Lexa tilts her head to the side with a pointed look, gently prompting you to be serious.

“No, I have a few ideas.” You shrug. “I always wanted to design something for myself, purely for the artistry of it. My mom would probably freak.” You laugh, shaking your head. You glance back over at her, and then down to her tattooed bicep before deciding to continue. “I’d also, uh.” If anyone would understand, it’s her. “There’s one I’d like to get for my dad.”

Lexa nods again, glancing at her own bicep before looking back up at you. “What would you get?”

You’re getting into dangerous territory with her again. You wonder if she knows that you don’t talk about your dad with anyone, not even your mom, and yet you’ve talked about him with her twice in the span of the three days you’ve known her. You search her eyes, gentle and understanding, and the moment stretches for long enough that either way it becomes a bigger deal than you wanted to make it with her.

Fuck it. You decide to share this part of you with her anyway.

“My dad worked for NASA.” You start. “He was one of the chief engineers involved with the New Frontiers program. You know those photos of Pluto? And then the Juno spacecraft, the one that recently entered Jupiter’s orbit?”

“Wow.” Lexa says, raising two impressed brows.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Pretty notable guy. Anyway,” You take a shaky breath, drawing shapes into the condensation on your pint glass. “Before my dad’s time there, there was this program, the Pioneer program, where we essentially sent out a time capsule–“

“The Golden Record.” Lexa interjects with a small nod.

You stare at her for a moment before continuing. “Yeah. Then you probably know about the pulsar map?”

“A visual map of the location of our solar system in reference to fourteen pulsars that we know of, and the center of our galaxy, yes.”

You hate her for knowing this.

“Why that?” She asks.

You’ve told a total of five people about this tattoo idea, including Lexa, most in varying stages of careless intoxication. Raven, Bellamy, Wells, Finn, and now Lexa. The four previous times you’ve talked about it, you’ve given them a simple, accessible answer, along the lines of _I like the idea that wherever he is, he can always find home._

You appreciate the poetry of it, to be sure, and all four of them ate it up, but you don’t really buy into the almost coddling falsity of it. It’s just an easy, placating explanation. Jake is gone. But something about Lexa makes you want to tell her the truth of it, because there’s more nuance to it than that.

“Carl Sagan was a big hero of my dad’s. I grew up watching Cosmos with him, I read Contact long before I was probably capable of understanding it, and several times since,” You know she probably already knows that Carl Sagan was heavily involved in the Pioneer Program, there’s no need to explain this to her. “One of the things Carl Sagan really stood for was the concept of humanity bettering itself, that we could be good and kind and peaceful while also being an intelligent, advanced society.”

Lexa nods, listening intently.

“My dad always believed in the best in people, in that sense. He knew we could be better than war and hate and being selfish. And I like the idea,” You take a breath. “I like the idea of being proud of humanity, and what we can do. For him. If there’s anything out there, that finds that map,” You gesture upwards, to the sky. “I stand by the notion that we’re something worth finding.”

You’ve never told anyone this. A silence passes, and you can feel Lexa’s eyes burning into you for long moments before she speaks.

“Would you like to know why I want to teach Humanities?”

You face her again, forcing yourself to look her in the eyes – it’s like looking directly into the sun sometimes.

“Humans change by learning from their mistakes, and learning from history. I want to teach young people that their generation doesn’t have to be doomed to repeat history over and over again, nor do future generations. That we can grow and learn to accept and love and understand. We can better ourselves, like you said.”

You openly stare at her for several long moments, eyes darting between hers.

“You and my dad would’ve gotten along.” You say, quiet.

“I think we would have.” She nods, eyes soft.

The overwhelming urge to reach out to her – for her hand, to graze knees, maybe even to kiss her – surprises and scares you.

You’re shocked out of your thoughts by Bellamy. “Staff shots!” It feels like he screams it at you two, and you jump noticeably. It’s then that you realize that you and Lexa are almost completely facing each other on your barstools, leaned in significantly closer than when you first sat down. _Get a hold of your body language, Griff._ You jerk backwards, turning back to face the bar.

“So aggressive, Bell.” You frown at him, shaking your head. You look down and see that he’s poured three shots, not just two, and narrow your eyes at him. Raven taking shots on shift is one thing, she’s always responsible and never takes more than two or three. Bell is a different story.

To make it worse, Jasper – who literally just got here, over ten minutes late – appears at his side.

“Did I hear you say staff shots? I want in.” He then notices Lexa sitting with you. He waves at her sheepishly, because he knows drinking on shift is kind of frowned upon. You sneak a glance to try and gauge her reaction to the idea, but her face is impassive.

Bellamy shrugs, pulling a fourth shot glass and pouring another, pointedly ignoring your reprimanding glare as he hands it to Jasper.

“It’ll be fine, princess.” He rolls his eyes. “Do you want another drink after this?” He nods to Lexa’s glass, which you hadn’t noticed was empty.

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

You can’t help the way your stomach sinks in disappointment. _It’s good_ , you think. It would be dangerous to get into the habit of having way-too-deep conversations with someone you’re trying to be casual with every time you finish a shift together.

The four of you take your shots – you, Jasper, and Bell with a wince and Lexa with a straight face, as usual – and Jasper walks back into the kitchen, but Bell lingers afterwards. _Go away,_ you think. You give him a pointed look to communicate this, which he acknowledges with a tilt of his head, and ignores before turning to Lexa.

“So, you’re calling for a mandatory all-staff meeting tomorrow?”

What? This is the first you’ve heard of this. Kane may have actually not told you out of spite this time.

“Yes, two o’clock, while it’s dead.” Lexa nods. “There are some things that need to be addressed in the kitchen, and some of that extends to Front of House, as well.”

“Sounds like a party.” He smirks. “Speaking of which, how come you didn’t stay and hang out with us the other night?”

You widen your eyes at him like _the fuck are you doing, asshole?_ He ignores you again, a gross smirk spreading across his features. You don’t like where this is going.

Lexa dodges him expertly. “It was late, I had obligations early that next morning.” You’re pretty sure that’s not true. “I’m sure you all had plenty of fun without me.”

“Don’t worry, Clarke’s a party pooper too. She went to bed right after you left. Seemed pretty worn out.”

You try not to let your jaw drop. Shut the _fuck_ up, Bell.

“We both had long mornings.” Lexa says simply, face set.

“Long night too, I heard.”

“Bellamy.” You interject sharply. “Go help Harper run her food.” You say, fixing him with a glare. She only has three plates in the window, which any of the servers here are more than capable of running alone in one trip. Bell challenges your glare for just a few moments before shaking his head and walking away. What a fucking asshole.

“I’m sorry about him. I didn’t–“ You can talk about this without being weird, it’s fine. “I didn’t even say anything to him about the other night, he’s just making assumptions.”

“It’s fine, Clarke.” Lexa says, running a hand through her hair. “I should go, though. I’ll see you tomorrow at the meeting.”

“Okay.” You say quietly, trying not to sound disappointed. “See you later.”

You exchange small, private smiles as she picks up her things and walks past you. You’re not even given a full ten seconds of silence after she leaves before Bell is back with that same smirk, now unabashed. You’re not having it today.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” You spit harshly. His face immediately falls.

“Whoa, calm down. It was a joke.”

“Why would you joke about me hooking up with the kitchen manager, _with_ me and the kitchen manager? Don’t you get the sense that maybe, _maybe_ that’s something we’re trying to move past?”

“Why, so you can be _friends?_ ” He scoffs incredulously, as if the notion is absurd.

 _“Yes.”_ You say firmly, jaw clenching. “That’s fucking exactly why.” You tilt your head back and chug the rest of your beer before slamming your glass down, almost hard enough to break it probably, and throw your purse over your shoulder. You give him one more pointed glare before turning in a huff and walking away from the bar, ignoring his calls for you to _come back, I was kidding!_

* * *

You spend a lot of the time before the meeting the next day again wishing you had Lexa’s number.

And when you, Raven, and Octavia take Raven’s forerunner to The Library – you’ve never understood how she can feel comfortable driving such a giant ass vehicle in one of the biggest cities in the country – you secretly hope they will ask you about how talking with Lexa yesterday went.

They don’t.

“Welcome, Ladies.” Kane smiles at the three of you as you approach the bar a couple minutes late, which is full at two o’clock on a Monday only because of the employee meeting. You look around; there’s no one that doesn’t work here even in the restaurant right now. Jaha is there as well, which is unusual, so there must be some important things to discuss.

You inwardly scold yourself for immediately searching for Lexa, and only settling at your barstool once you spot her leaving dry storage, moving boxes from an order that must have come in. You also inwardly scold yourself for watching the way her toned arms flex as she does this with ease, much longer than is entirely necessary. You force yourself not to look again.

Several minutes pass before Lexa finishes and stands to the side of the bar, taking off her backwards flat-billed cap and fixing her braid, breathing a little heavier than normal.

She is such a pain in your ass. You look away again.

“I’m going to start without them. They can ask someone to fill them in on what they miss.” You hear her tell Kane.

“Listen up, everyone!” Kane calls to gain everyone’s attention. “We’ve got a lot to go over, especially for Back of House, so let’s make this as quick and easy as possible.” He turns to regard Lexa before continuing. “As you all already know, we have a new Kitchen Manager. Well, not entirely new. Most of you know that Lexa worked in the kitchen for a couple years when Pramheda was still the owner, and she’s graciously agreed to come back and help us out in the wake of Anya's departure. I’ll let you take the floor.” He smiles at her, stepping to the side to let her speak.

“I won’t mince words with all of you.” She starts, in a voice so clear and loud it almost startles you. “The Library has lost clientele over the last year or so, for a variety of reasons. Mobile and online reviews lately have cited issues with consistent quality of both service and particularly food. What I’ve seen the most of, however, are complaints about wait times for food. One review said their wait after ordering was over an hour. This is absolutely unacceptable.”

The entire restaurant is dead silent – Jaha wears a tight-lipped smile next to Kane – except for Bellamy, who’s whispering to Harper at the other end of the bar. You notice Lexa glance at him before continuing to speak over him, louder now.

“Ticket times should never be over thirty minutes, no matter how large the party is. I will be putting in place some new habits in the kitchen to speed up the ticket times.”

Harper is stifling a giggle now, as Bellamy continues to whisper to her.

“I’ve also noticed some issues with casual tardiness, which won’t be acceptable in at least the kitchen from now on. Come to work on time, or not at all.”

This earns a few whispers. Then, as if on cue, Jasper and Monty walk in the door.

“You’re late.” Lexa calls to them sharply. “I was just informing everyone that being late to work will no longer be acceptable.”

Jasper’s eyebrows shoot up, and he makes that same ‘yikes!’ face. “Jeez, sorry.”

They come over to stand next to you, and you roll your eyes at him because they both reek of weed.

You hear him whisper to Monty, “It’s only ten minutes, jeez. She needs to chill out.”

“Or you could skip the pre-meeting bake and actually be on time.” You snap at him in a whisper without looking at him.

You can feel his petulant glare on you for a few seconds before Lexa continues. Bellamy at this point is completely ignoring everything she’s saying, now talking to Miller on his other side. Lexa notices and slowly strides over to him as she speaks.

“Front of House may want to pay extra attention now, because this last part will apply to you as well.”

She fixes Bellamy with a cold stare as she continues until he stops talking to Miller, who straightens with a noticeable gulp. The way she’s able to command attention with such authority sends a not entirely unpleasant chill down your spine.

“Any drinking while on shift will no longer be permitted.” She says with a lingering look at Bell as she walks back over to your side of the bar. This is met with immediate hushed protests and groans from almost everyone. “From now on, anyone found drinking on shift will–“

“That’s bullshit!” Bellamy interrupts. “And you’re Back of House, you can’t manage us out front–“

“Kane and I have discussed it. He agrees.” Lexa cuts back in, firmly. Kane nods at him behind her in confirmation. “When you’re on the clock, you’re here to work. Not to get drunk with your friends. Everyone will get one warning, and that’s it. Anyone who takes issue with that can find a different job.”

This silences everyone immediately.

It’s strange to see this side of Lexa, who in your own experiences with her has mostly been soft features and eyes. Right now, her trademark impassive expression is in full force, eyes hard, and you can see why she probably scares the shit out of some of the kids here. Although that was probably the intention for this particular meeting. The drinking on shift really has gotten a little out of hand for certain people.

Lexa continues on for a several more minutes about being serious about work, and being faster and more efficient as a team, regaining clientele, goes over some Back of House-specific things. Eventually Kane steps in to throw in his two cents, which is basically just a repeat of everything she had said. The meeting ends and Lexa goes back to hauling food boxes, leaving just about everyone whispering complaints to one another.

“This blows.” Jasper leans down to say to you. “Just take the manager job already so we can take staff shots on shift again.”

Except you actually kind of agree with their decision. “I wouldn’t be able to change anything.” You say instead.

“Still blows.”

“Yeah no shit.” Bellamy says from behind you suddenly. “She needs to get that stick out of her ass.”

You clench your jaw as he says this, watching Lexa carry in a box of onions. There are so many things you want to say to them right now. _Maybe she has a point. Maybe you should stop getting wasted on shift. Maybe she just wants to run a better business and get more customers, which will help you make more money. Maybe you should stop being fucking dickwads._

You say nothing.

"Any of you guys working tonight?" Octavia asks, striding over to the four of you with Raven.

You shake your head. "Roan's on bar tonight."

Jasper and Monty shake their heads as well.

"We should go out." Raven says. "This one's due for a shwasted night." She gestures a thumb towards you. You roll your eyes at her.

"Yeah I'm in.” Bell says. “Should we just grab whoever's not working? Since we can't drink at our own bar anymore?" At this, your composure finally snaps and you turn around to face him.

"You can still drink here, dumbass. Just not on shift."

"Have you checked your ass lately, Princess? I think the Commander may have put a stick up yours, too."

"You have a nickname for her _already_? Jesus, Blake."

"She thinks she can command me from in the kitchen, she can shove another stick right up her–"

"Oh my god, lay off her, Bell." Octavia groans, exasperated. You're surprised she's taking your side.

"Fine. Sorry. She just pisses me off."

"We're aware." You say flatly.

Bellamy sighs, then, "Well, should we just get a head start and day drink?"

Jasper shrugs with a nod, and you hear Raven say, "Meh, sure."

Bellamy and Raven round everybody up that's not scheduled for the evening - Maya tells them she'll meet the group once she's off her shift, but just for a drink or two; she has a test to study for this week. Miller says he will too, and he's down to "get crunk." You notice that they don't bother asking Lexa while they step into the kitchen to ask Miller. Everyone that's going has started walking towards the door, except you.

"Hey." You say at the food window, and Lexa looks up at you from whisking a ranch bucket. "Some of us are gonna hit the town today and probably through tonight, do you wanna go once you're off?"

She glances past you. "I don't get the sense that I'll be wanted company after taking away their drinking privileges."

You follow her line of sight to see Bell blatantly giving you an incredulous _the fuck you doing_ look. You roll your eyes as you turn back.

"Just ignore Bellamy. He'll get over it eventually. You should come hang out with us. If you want." You add quickly. "Even if all of them are salty, you can just hang out with me. I'm on you and Kane's side."

"I thought you might be." A little smile pulls at her lips. "Maybe I will. Where will you be?"

"Oh I have no idea. We'll probably hit a bunch of bars. Miller and Bell were talking about going to Play tonight." The gay club. Before Miller and Bryan got together, the three of you would have a system whenever you hit Play. You and Bell find a girl you think is hot? You approach her and blatantly hit on her. If she's a hag, she tells you sorry, she's straight, and then Bell can step in and schmooze her with his "supportive friend for my gay bros" spiel. If she's not straight, win for you. And then you and Miller would agree on a hot guy and he would hit on him, although it was rare he wouldn't be into dudes, obviously.

"Hm." She nods.

"Why don't, uh," _Friends_. "Why don't you give me your number and I'll tell you where we are once you're off?" You pull your phone out and slide it to her with a new contact page open, hoping your face doesn't show the small amount of nerves you feel asking for her number.

You bite your lip as you watch her type it in. She hands it back to you, and you debate for a moment before adding the galaxy emoji to her last name. Everyone in your phone has their own special emoji: Raven a wrench, Bellamy the beers clinking, Octavia the eggplant emoji - long story - Lincoln the flexing arm emoji. The list goes on. You shoot her a text that just says "Clarke" before waving bye to her with a smile and joining the group.

Bell immediately fixes you with a scowl as you walk up to them.

"You can't invite everyone but one person." You hiss at him. "That's _mean_."

"So she's coming then?" He groans quietly.

"You'll survive." You say, short.

You all walk as a group to the first bar – it’s literally a few doors down, so everyone there is very much familiar with all of you. It doesn’t even faze them that you’re all taking shots of Jameson at almost three in the afternoon on a Monday. This is what it means to work in a bar.

Raven makes good on her promise to get you shwasted very quickly, of course. It’s not even four before you’ve hit three different bars and have taken multiple shots – mostly bitch shots, thank god, but still.

Four o’clock arrives and you’re a little embarrassed by how often you check your phone to see if Lexa has texted you. Then five o’clock arrives, and still nothing. You can’t help the way your stomach sinks a little. You understand why she wouldn’t want to come out. All of your friends haven’t exactly been particularly nice to her. And then there’s the thing with you, obviously. Maybe it was weirder than you’d realized to invite her out.

You’re shooting pool with Bellamy and finishing some shitty bar food at the fifth – sixth? – place when it finally happens. 6:07.

 

_So where did you all end up?_

 

The pretty hefty buzz you have going prevents you from thinking about the unspoken rule of waiting at least two minutes to text your crush back.

 

_hey! I’m not sure yet. we’re probably going to leave where we’re at in a second, as soon as I finish kicking bell’s ass at pool haha_

 

You’re barely winning. You also forget the unspoken double texting rule.

 

_any preference? I don’t think we’ve decided yet_

 

You sink the six ball and the two ball before you feel your phone buzz again.

 

_I think you all know the U District bar scene better than I do. I’m happy to meet you wherever._

 

You confer with Bell and Raven before deciding on a basement dive bar that has a pong table and several pool tables, a few blocks south. You quickly text Lexa the name of the bar before pounding the rest of your beer and leaving.

Everyone’s tell-tale drunk behavior starts to come out as you walk to the next place. Lincoln has a permanent, quiet smile as Octavia practically glues herself to him. Occasionally she’ll break away to throw an arm around someone else, cheeks all rosy. Bellamy just gets louder and smiles wider. Raven tells stories that are so funny you almost pee yourself, and will punch Bell in the arm about every ten seconds. Everyone tells you that you get a little cockier, and if you drink enough, you turn into the touchy-feely drunk, but you’ve usually cut yourself off to enter Mom Friend-mode to take care of everyone else before that can happen.

Miller’s trying to convince you to do a car bomb with him – _fuck no, I am not puking tonight, get Bell to do one with you_ – when Lexa walks in, chin lifted and eyes searching.

Your mouth practically goes dry. She finally notices you looking, and you wave her over to the bar. Lexa’s wearing a black bandeau under a dark green muscle tee with sleeves so big you can see the top hem of her high waisted black skinny jeans through them. She starts walking towards you with already long legs seeming endless because of her wedged ankle boots.

“Hey Clarke, if you take a picture it’ll last – ow, you ho!“ You slap Raven hard on her bicep before she can finish.

“Hey, you made it.” You say, scooting over to make room for her to stand at the bar next to you. “Miller here needs someone to take a car bomb with him, can I buy you one?”

You laugh at the face she makes at the idea.

“I’ve had exactly one Irish Car Bomb, and that was enough for the rest of my life.” Lexa says, curt.

“You guys are boring.” Miller rolls his eyes before pushing off the bar to presumably get Bellamy to do one with him.

Raven makes the two of you take a José shot with her – Lexa cutely winces – after which you buy Lexa a double Jameson and a yourself a PBR, and make your way over to the pool tables.

“Play a game with me?” You ask her, handing her a cue and clumsily hitting it against the table as you do so. You might be more drunk than you’d thought.

She smirks at you and takes it from you. You accidentally stare at her lips as she blows blue dust off of the freshly chalked tip.

“Ready to get your ass handed to you?” You grin as she leans down to break.

She shakes her head, a small smile appearing at her lips. “You’ve never seen me play.”

Lexa practically obliterates you. She makes four balls in on her first turn, and you only get two in before she’s sunk the eight ball. You hear Jasper whisper _damn!_ to Monty from the table next to yours.

You’re not sure if it makes it better or worse to tell yourself that you lost so badly because you were distracted by the way her wavy hair fell over one shoulder as she’d stand, leaning on her cue as you took your shot. Or the way she’d bite her lip in concentration, smoky eyes hard and focused as she’d line up her cue. Or maybe it was the fact that you could see every line of her toned stomach through the sleeves of her muscle tee as she leaned over to line up a shot.

_Stop it._

Raven and Bellamy bring over more shots for you and Lexa – Jameson this time. _Can’t you bring me bitch shots again?_ You whine at Raven before wincing it down. _But you’re so much more fun when you’re wasted!_ Raven mock whines back.

Eventually, you’re roped by Monty and Jasper into playing beer pong. Normally Bell is your go-to pong partner, but you’ve already clasped Lexa’s wrist and dragged her over to the table to play with you.

Bellamy actually looks a little offended that you bypassed him entirely to play with Lexa instead. _Fine._ He says, mock-but-not-really-mock petulant. _You’re my partner once you guys lose, though._

You kick their asses. Mostly thanks to Lexa, you think. You only have to drink two cups before they’re out. Miller and Bryan play you next, and they put up a better fight than Monty and an already shitfaced Jasper, so you have to drink three cups this round – one of them a Russian roulette style shot of Jameson.

It starts to matter to you less and less that you keep hugging Lexa after a great shot, or brushing a hand around her waist, fingers over a forearm, or letting your face and lips get way, way closer to her than they should be on several occasions. Lexa herself is smiling bigger than you’ve seen, and your heart swells at her rosy cheeks, and the fact that she really seems to be enjoying herself not just with you, but with everyone else, too. She brings a kind of deadpan wit to the group, and you love that you can feel everyone starting to warm up to her.

You make it to a round three with Octavia and Lincoln. Lincoln never seems particularly drunk no matter how much he’s had, because he’s always so quiet and stoic to begin with. You start to miss a lot of your shots, and Lexa keeps carrying you both, and you keep sweeping her up in hugs when she does, even pressing a firm kiss to her cheek at one point. You end up having to take another roulette shot, and you tilt your head back down only to notice Octavia giving you this _look._ This rosy, elated, knowing look. Like she knows what’s up, and she looks between the two of you. Like she understands. And you step back in your mind for a second and watch the way Octavia and Lincoln interact and you realize that you’re doing some of the exact same things with Lexa.

This sobers you.

Bellamy and Raven finally play you, Bell having given up on you losing and regaining you as a partner. It’s close; partially because your game is down even worse, and you’re distancing from Lexa, and you think that might be throwing her off as well.

Bell makes your last cup, throwing his arms up with a cheer as Raven slaps his back with a victorious laugh.

“Well, well. Looks like the Commander and the Princess can be beat.” Bellamy smirks as you down the last cup of beer.

You notice Lexa cock her head to the side at the nickname, and to her credit she says nothing.

“We do make a good team.” She says as she looks back over at you as you slam the plastic cup down, eyes and smile so goddamn, _infuriatingly_ soft.

You want to kiss her.

 _Fuck._ You give her a tight-lipped smile back before turning a little too abruptly and busying yourself with Jasper at the bar, who’s gearing to take another shot. When you turn back to look at Lexa, she’s looking at you with that impassive expression again, until she turns away to sip on her whiskey as she watches the next beer pong game play out.

You know you shouldn’t take another shot. You’re already pretty drunk, enough that you have to consciously think about not swaying as you walk back over to the table, new beer in hand.

“Hey, let’s go to Play soon! I need to get my dance on.” You hear Octavia call out, which is met with a chorus of agreement from just about everyone.

The image of Lexa dancing in a crowded club, eyes closed, hands in her hair, suddenly bombards you, completely unbidden. This image transforms into one of parted lips and panting breaths, until it turns into something altogether sinful.

You physically shake your head out of your thoughts. Dancing is probably a bad idea.

It ends up being an even worse idea than you’d initially thought, and you haven't even gotten there yet. You all cram into three or four Lyfts, and of course you end up in a back seat, pressed by Lexa against the car door with another two people on her other side. Her body is so warm, and you can feel the skin of her abdomen exposed from her muscle tee brushing against your bare arm, and you’re being enveloped by that vanilla wood floral scent all over again.

Everything starts to happen in a blur. You all arrive at the club, and suddenly you’re on the floor with a plastic bud light cup containing a double gin and tonic, another shot in, arms raised and moving to the pulsing beat.

She draws you in, magnetic, until your hands are fixed on the exposed skin of her waist, drink lost and forgotten as you move with her, pressed against her back. Eventually, she turns to face you, pressed to your front now, that very image of parted lips and mussed hair and hooded eyes that you had been trying to avoid thinking about since the idea of dancing came up.

You don’t think. You don’t think when you grab her hand and weave through the crowd of bodies, your friends, to a secluded corner near some stairs where you press her against a wall and kiss her, savage and hungry, drinking her in with indulgent sighs. You’re not sure how much time passes – the songs blur together – before she’s pushing at your collarbones and tearing her mouth away with a sinfully wet smack.

“What are you doing?” She asks, loud enough to be heard but vulnerable, and lips so, so swollen.

You shake your head into her neck. _I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know._

“Well what do you want, Clarke?”

 _This. You. Your body. You._ Instead, you wordlessly press kisses along the column of her throat, loving the feeling of her breaths hitching, trailing fingers into her shirt and along her hot skin as you move back to capture her mouth with yours again.

 _“Clarke!_ Oh my god.” You immediately jump back, heart pounding in fright. Octavia is suddenly face to face with you, stifling laughter at your probably dumbass expression at being caught making out. “We’ve–“ She snorts as she looks between the two of you, Lexa’s own eyes almost comically wide, chest heaving. “Sorry. We’ve been looking all over for you. Jasper and Raven are really shitfaced, we’ve gotta call it and go home.”

You nod dumbly as you follow her, swaying, taking Lexa’s hand to bring her along behind you.

You only realize you’re trying to pull her into the backseat of the Lyft that’s outside waiting with you and the others when she stops, dropping her hand. _Idiot._ She’s not coming home with you. Again. What are you doing?

“I have my own waiting.” She explains.

You open your mouth to say something, but it gets caught, and you just nod dumbly. She waits a moment longer, brows just ever so slightly furrowed and looking like she needs to say something before she takes a step back.

“Goodnight, Clarke.” She says, turning away and barely giving you a chance to say goodnight back before she’s gone.

You barely remember the ride home or the walk into your apartment, only collapsing onto your bed, stripped down and breathing deep into your pillow.

* * *

It takes a moment to orient yourself when you wake up, eyes and mouth dry and head all full of unpleasant pressure. Your thoughts come in this order:

_Water._

_Am I still drunk?_

And finally,

_Oh, fuck. I made out with Lexa last night. Fuck._

“Oh, _fuck.”_ You say it out loud, scrambling to find your phone. 12:08 PM.  _Wow._ There are multiple messages, all from Octavia and Bellamy last night when they were trying to find you. None from Lexa.

You fucked it all up. Again.

You rub at your eyes as you scramble out of bed, slightly unsteady, and make your way out into the kitchen. Octavia and Lincoln are around, sitting on one of the couches with coffee and Netflix.

“How ya feelin', champ?” Octavia says without even turning around.

“How’d you know it was me?” You say, voice groggy.

“I didn’t, but it’s either you or Raven and you’re both gonna be in just about the same boat based on last night.”

You sigh deeply, eyes closing. “I got too fucked up, guys. I don’t want to do that again. I was totally out of control.”

They both turn back to face you, expressions suddenly concerned.

“Hey, it’s fine.” Octavia reassures. “We all do stupid shit when we’re drunk. It could be worse, right? You could’ve been making out with Bellamy or Jasper.”

You visibly shudder at the mere thought, which earns a chuckle from Lincoln, who’s in the process of excusing himself to get something from Octavia’s room.

“Fair point.” You say, then once Lincoln’s out of earshot, “But I think I just made everything really complicated. I might take Jasper’s tongue in my mouth over this if I’m honest.”

“That bad?” Octavia says softly, and a few beats pass before, “What the hell happened with you two even?”

You open your mouth as if you’re going to tell them the truth of it, which is crazy, because you can’t even admit the truth of it to yourself, much less someone else.

“I mean you like her, right?” You snap your eyes over to hers. Sometimes you don’t give Octavia enough credit; you think maybe being with Lincoln has made her more observant and sensitive to others.

“I just…” You run a hand through your hair. “Got too involved too fast. I’m trying to take a step back.”

Octavia shakes her head. “Why? That’s the fun part. The falling.”

 _Stop stop stop._ She’s making this too real.

“I just can’t do it, not right now. I don’t know, okay?”

Octavia looks like she’s going to argue about it when you’re both interrupted by Lincoln walking back into the living area, phone in hand.

“Guys,” He starts, serious, as he reads a text from his phone. His temperament grabs both of your attention immediately. “Lexa just fired Jasper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errbody gon be pissed at Lexa noooow. Also, I really like the idea of Lexa being pretty feminine in a modern AU, which I haven't seen much of in fic. If you're gonna put glitter on your neck in the post-apocalypse just to look pretty for the girl you're into, like. I'm just sayin. I bet she wears lipstick sometimes.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, I wrote 10k. I think it'll actually end up being a four-parter. Pretty sure.

You’re haphazardly dressed and storming your way into The Library before you’ve even really figured out what exactly you plan on doing. Sterling looks up from bussing a table and nods before you make your way back to Bellamy at the bar, who’s washing some pint glasses from the lunch rush. As soon as he sees you, his face turns stony and he locks his jaw.

“What the hell happened?” You demand.

He nods over to the kitchen, where Lexa is prepping some pizza dough. “Why don’t you ask your girlfriend.”

“She’s not – we–“ You stutter, trying to fix him with a rapidly blinking glare. “Stop it, Bellamy. Jasper got fired, tell me what happened.”

Bellamy sighs, setting clean glasses down and wiping his hands on a bar rag. “He was a little late, and hungover and nauseous from the night we were _all_ at, so I made him a Bloody Mary in a to-go cup for him to sip on while he was doing prep work with her and Emori, and then next thing I know he’s throwing off his apron and he’s in fucking tears and walking out of here. And then this Commander _bitch_ comes out and tells me that if I send alcohol back into her kitchen again, she’ll recommend to Kane that I be fired too.”

You stare at him for several long moments. “What the _fuck?_ ” You say. “I thought she said everyone gets a warning?”

“That’s exactly what I fucking said to her.”

“I’m going to fix this. Stay here.” You say, turning a heel and huffing towards the kitchen, barely giving anything a second thought before you’re suddenly standing right next to her with an incredulous glare.

“What the _hell,_ Lexa?” You growl.

She calmly stops what she’s doing, dusts the flour off her hands, and straightens to face you. She’s fixing you with that cold, almost terrifying look you’ve only seen her give to others, stepping further into your space with locked eyes. You unconsciously take a step backwards, and it’s now that you realize you didn’t think this through at _all_.

She speaks lowly, almost dangerously. “Is there a problem, Clarke?”

And then you remember last night, and a rush of guilt hits you, and you have to power through this and several rapid blinks before you find your resolve.

“You need to give Jasper another chance.” You say in the most authoritative voice you can manage.

“It’s not your concern how I run this kitchen, Clarke.”

“My friends are my business.” You snap. “And Jasper is one of my best friends. And he didn’t deserve to get fired without any kind of warning.”

“He had warning, Clarke. I told him and everyone else that being late would no longer be tolerated, and that drinking on shift would no longer be tolerated, and not only did he show up noticeably stoned, but he was late _and_ drinking the very first shift he worked after I established those rules.” Lexa says it low and firm, even baring her teeth once, never blinking or breaking her cold stare from your eyes.

You grind your teeth, trying to figure out how to respond before she continues instead.

“And I’m aware that Jasper is a close friend of yours, but it’s my responsibility to be an impartial supervisor and not let my personal feelings cloud my judgment.”

 _Personal feelings._ Focus, Clarke.

“I get it, okay? Jasper is a fucking mess, he’s drunk on shift a lot of the time, fucks up orders more than others, and he’s always ten minutes late. But he has a lot of heart, and everyone here loves him. We’re like a family. A fucked up one, but a family still. Please don’t do this.”  _Please don’t make it impossible for them to accept you into it. I don’t want that for you._ You shake your head, attempting a last-ditch plea.

“People make mistakes, Lexa.”

The words leave your mouth and you realize there’s a double meaning there that you need her to understand. You don’t think what happened between the two of you last night or a few nights ago had any bearing on her decision. You don’t get the sense that she’s even capable of being vindictive, towards anyone.

Her face remains unchanged. Nothing.

“I’m sorry, Clarke.”

You sigh at her response, casting your eyes downward as she continues.

“It’s done. And as I understand it, Jasper’s work ethic has been an issue since long before I came back, and it would have happened one way or another.”

You open and close your mouth to say something before finally clenching your jaw. Normally, you’d push something like this until it’s been made right, by whatever means necessary. The problem is, you don’t even really disagree with Lexa. Jasper’s a sweetheart and fun as hell, and a dear friend, but he’s a goddamn terrible employee. You’ve been on his ass for months about his bullshit in the kitchen, and you’re frankly surprised Anya never fired him. You make a show of shaking your head and pursing your lips anyway.

“This is why they brought me in, Clarke. Someone has to make those hard decisions to keep the place afloat.” Her expression softens, just barely. “And I know you understand where I’m coming from. And I know that’s why Kane and Jaha want you to manage.”

 _Which is exactly why I won’t do it,_ you think.

“They listen to you.” She continues. “You could inspire them to take pride in working hard.”

“This isn’t about me, okay?” You say, irritated, rubbing at the bridge of your nose. “So, what, that’s it then? And then what, you’re gonna tell Kane to fire Bellamy?”

“I gave Bellamy a warning. The restaurant is struggling right now, Clarke. We shouldn’t have those three-hour periods where no one comes in, not in a city like this.”

“I know.” You sigh. “I know that it’s gotten worse. I can…” You run a hand through your hair as you glance over to Bellamy, who’s watching both of you with narrowed eyes as he washes more dishes. He can’t hear anything from where he’s standing. “I’ll talk to them.”

Lexa nods, relaxing slightly. “Thank you, Clarke.”

“Just to be clear, I think you should’ve handled this better.” You snap at her. She recoils, blinking and looking downwards, swallowing thickly. “But I have your back. I just hope you’re ready to be the shit-talk of everyone’s conversations.” You add with a snort.

She gives a small smile at that, almost sad, accepting, before looking back up to meet your eyes. Her expression is open again, and you suddenly forget the situation at hand and remember what happened last night, and that rush of guilt hits you again, so hard that your breath hitches.

“Listen, about last night…” You start, and she tilts her head with just the slightest raise of her brow. You’re hoping she’ll interrupt and just tell you not to worry about it, but you know you don’t deserve that this time. She just waits quietly for you to continue. “I’m sorry.” You say, blinking and looking away. “I was totally out of control, I haven’t had that much to drink in a while. Which isn’t an excuse, obviously.” You add quickly, heart beating rapidly. “But it was shitty of me, and I’m sorry. I–”

“Why are you sorry, Princess?” Bell suddenly asks from the doorframe behind you, making you jump so badly you whack your wrist against one of the prep tables, hard.

“Jesus, _fuck,_ Bell!” You growl, turning on him as you rub your wrist. “ _Go away._ ” He throws his hands up and backs away, but not before shaking his head at you with an unexpectedly cold look.

You wait until he’s out of earshot again before you turn back to Lexa. She meets your eyes again, guarded. “I can’t play games, Clarke.” She says, quiet and straightforward. There’s a flash of hurt there that makes your gut ache.

“No games.” You say, shaking your head, earnest. “I promise, from now on.” She nods, and you stand there in a slightly uncomfortable silence until you hear the sound of a new food ticket printing behind you. “I’ll, uh. Let you get back to work.” You pull your long sleeves up to your fingers, awkwardly shuffling back out to the bar as you scratch your eyelid. Having decided you need a drink before you head to the studio for a bit, you slide onto the stool farthest from the kitchen with a deep sigh.

“So?” Bell says expectantly, leaning on his hands against the drink mats. “Did you talk some sense into her?”

You sigh even deeper. “Will you pour me a hef and a shot, please. I work late night bar so just put it under shifters.”

He shakes his head at you, clearly interpreting your unspoken answer, then pours your drinks.

“So you were apologizing to her why, exactly?”

You look up at him with a raised brow. “That didn’t have anything to do with Jasper. Thanks for that interruption, by the way.” You scowl at him.

“So you’re just gonna let her fire one of our best friends with basically no warning?”

“I can’t do anything, Bell.” Is all you say before taking several large gulps of your beer. Not, _it would have happened eventually,_ or, _I actually understand where she’s coming from_.

“This is such bullshit.” He growls, low and gravelly, shaking his head as he looks around the restaurant. “It hasn’t even been a week with her acting like she owns the place and everything already sucks.”

“She’s just trying to run a better restaurant.” You murmur.

He narrows his eyes at you, almost dangerously. “Are you seriously taking her side, Clarke? Because you’ve got a little schoolgirl crush on the pretty new kitchen manager? You’re going to throw your friends under the bus?”

“I’m not-“ _Jesus._ This all seems like an overreaction. You know Bellamy will get stubborn if something isn’t going the way he wants it to, or the way he thinks it should, but even this is excessive for him. “You understand that everything she’s doing is to try and get more customers in, which will help us all make more money, right? Do you get that?”

“This place was running just fine before she came along.”

“Maybe ‘just fine’ isn’t enough anymore.”

“This is–“ Bellamy rubs his brows. “Fine, Princess. You let your girlfriend run this place however you think is best.”

“ _Stop_ calling her my girlfr–“ You’re interrupted by your phone buzzing in your pocket – it’s your mom calling. You press ignore and turn back to Bellamy. “There’s nothing going on with us. Stop calling her my girlfriend.”

He scoffs. “So, sex and making out in a club with someone is suddenly nothing now, huh?” _How did he – whatever._

“I’m sorry, why do you care? And this is coming from _you,_ remember. Mister _let-me-tell-you-about-all-these-threesomes-I’ve-had_?”

“First of all, that only happened once. And let’s not act like you weren’t totally eager to bro out with me about it.” You nod with an eyeroll. That’s true. Then he narrows his eyes at you. “You’re different with her, Clarke. I’m not an idiot, I can tell.”

You know he can tell. He knows you better than most people.

“I’m not going to do the co-worker thing again, okay? We’re friends. And that’s it. And it’s none of your damn business anyway.” You sneak a nervous glance over to the kitchen to make sure Lexa can’t hear anything you’re saying. She’s still kneading dough.

“Wait.” Bellamy takes a step back. “Is this really a Finn-level situation?” He nods his head over to the kitchen, completely incredulous. “ _Her?_ ”

“Bellamy.” You lean forward, locking eyes with him, your voice low and firm. You are not fucking around. “I swear to god, if you don’t drop it–“ Your phone buzzes again, just once. You look at it and see that Abby left a voicemail.

“Then _what_ , Clarke?” He scoffs, challenging.

“Then–“ You sigh, rubbing your temples. “You know what? No. I’m _asking_ you to leave me alone about it. Because you’re my friend, and because I don’t owe you any damn explanations, okay?”

Bell has always done this. Having him on your side is a double-edged sword. He’s fiercely protective of people he cares about, but to a fault. To the point where he thinks he ultimately knows what’s best for you, and if you stray from that paradigm he takes it as a personal offense, and feels like it’s his right to step in and attack you for it. But then something shifts in his eyes, and you think maybe he’s understanding how much of an unnecessary asshole he’s being.

“Fine. I’ll back off.” He concedes, pushing off the bar and crossing his arms. “I just want you to know I think she’s a total cunt.”

Your eyes widen and mouth drops open in shock, and you immediately slide your coaster out from under your beer and chuck it at him, about as hard as you can manage.

_“Bellamy!”_

He dodges it easily, and you realize as a small smirk spreads across his face that he’s just trying to get a rise out of you. He may even be partially serious, but it’s mostly teasing. You fight the little smile that pulls at your lips as you reach over to one of the coaster piles to throw another handful at him. He throws up his hands in defense with a laugh, managing to catch one and whip it right back at you.

“You’re seriously the biggest asshole – _ow!_ ” You laugh as it hits you square in the forehead. You throw three more back at him. “–asshole that I know, you know that right?”

“I’ve been – _ah! –_ I’ve been told, Prin– _stop!_ ”

You decide to skip the studio time – you have a piece due next Monday, and given you work late night tonight, and four out of the five days before it’s due, you really should be dedicating whatever time you can to working on it. You just aren’t feeling it today. You leave your car at work since you’ll be coming back tonight, and walk the twenty or so minutes home.

You remember the message your mom had left you as you step into your apartment building and punch the button for your floor.

 _“Hey, Clarke! I wondered if you might be working,”_ You weren’t. _“But I just wanted to give you a heads up…I’m going to be in the city! This Friday, actually.”_ You immediately tense as the elevator doors open. You step in. _“I ended up being able to take several days off from work, so Kane offered to host me so I could visit. I know it’s…short notice.”_ Yeah no shit. _“And I’m sure you’ll be busy – I don’t expect you to cancel any plans for me. But I’d really like to get to see you. Maybe I could take you out to eat, we could catch up? Anyways, call or text me when you can. I love you, sweetheart. Talk to you later.”_

“Fucking hell.” You murmur as you step out of the elevator to your floor. Ignoring calls is one thing, but blatantly avoiding your mom when she’s traveling halfway across the country to visit is definitely not going to fly.

This is so not something you need to deal with right now. You’re still cursing under your breath when you key into your apartment, and as if that wasn’t enough:

The first thing you see when you step in, and this isn’t entirely unexpected, is a puffy-eyed Jasper and consoling Octavia sitting on the couch that faces the door, music playing in the background. What you don’t expect, however, is to see the back of a particular person’s floppy-haired head at the couch that faces opposite.

_Finn._

You don’t even have time to process what he’s doing here before he’s heard the sound of the door and turned around to face you.

“Clarke, hey.” He says, as if he’s surprised to see you. _I live here, idiot._

“Finn. Hi.” You say, emotionless. Where the fuck is Raven?

“Clarke!” You get your answer, hearing her call with that same surprised tone from around the corner in the kitchen. _I live here, idiots._ You give Finn a lingering _I’m not sure why it’s okay that you’re here but I’m about to find out_ look before stepping around the corner to find yourself face-to-face with Raven. She immediately abandons the four drinks she had been in the middle of mixing when she sees your face. Your _explain, right now_ face. She shares a meaningful look with who you assume is Finn before nodding to the back hallway where the bedrooms are, beckoning you to follow to hers.

“ _Um_?” You whisper maybe a little too harshly as soon as the door is closed.

“I thought you said you were having studio time, then straight to late night. I would have warned you, I’m sorry.” She whispers, pleading.

“That doesn’t explain the fact that the last I heard, you never wanted to see his face again after the bullshit he pulled.”

“Look.” Raven sighs, closing her eyes. “I know things got really shitty. But Finn is practically my family. I just needed some space from him to get him out of my head as my, like, endgame guy, you know?”

“Uh-huh.” You say, raising a skeptical brow.

“So I texted him this week.”

“You _what?_ ” You hiss.

“I texted him.” She repeats. “And I basically told him I missed my best friend. And he apologized super sincerely for everything, so we met up for drinks Saturday night, and I realized that life’s too damn short to hold onto past shit, okay?”

You gape at her. “ _That’s_ why you were hungover? The fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“You were _busy._ ” She hisses back. “With all this Lexa bullshit.”

“With – that’s ridiculous. That’s not even anything–“

“Octavia told me about last night, and what you said this morning.” She cuts in, deadpan. “Cut the crap.”

 _Damn it, Octavia._ “That little – _fine_. You still should have told me what was going on. Because like it or not, this involves me too.” You give her a pointed look.

Raven huffs, crossing her arms and shifting her weight. This is some skeletons in the closet friendship territory you avoid with Raven, generally.

“Well that’s your issue to work out with him if you feel like you need to. But as for me? I want the guy that’s been there for me since I was six back in my life. And I’m not asking your permission, Clarke.” She says with a defiant chin raised.

You stubbornly hold her glare for a moment longer before conceding with a sigh, shoulders slumping. “You’re right, it’s not my place. This is just a lot do deal with right now.”

She waves an exasperated arm. “Why do you think I didn’t tell you, huh?”

You shake your head, covering a hand with your forehead. “It’s not even just that. My mom literally _just_ called and told me she’s visiting this week.”

“Oh.” Raven says, retreating slightly. “Gotcha.”

“Yeah, in addition to the stuff with Jasper.”

“Yeah. Octavia said you went to talk to her, though? Did you get her to change her mind?” She asks, hopeful.

“No.” You say, sighing. “No, I did not.”

“Oh.” She says again, shoulders slumping. “Shit.”

“And Bell’s pissed at me now.”

“Yeah but Bell’s always pissed about something. She seriously won’t give him another chance though?”

You shake your head.

“Okay no offense, but like kind of a bitch move.”

“I agree with her, Raven.” You shrug, defeated. “I know we’re all buds, but Jasper’s a fucking terrible worker and you know it. I think it needed to happen.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She grumbles.

“Yeah, I know.”

You let Raven go back out first so she doesn’t see the deep breath you need to take to steady yourself before facing Finn.

You play off what happened with Finn with most people, even Raven. The truth is? He broke your heart. You started working at The Library and let yourself get charmed by the cheeky, smooth bartender and you were falling for him within weeks. He came into your life and validated your art when you needed it and made you feel special and fun when you needed that. He distracted you from the ghost of your dad with his earnest charm and good nature, and then suddenly the rug was pulled out from under you because he had this thing with Raven, the girl you’d just moved in with and become good friends with. This really long, serious thing that while technically they were on a break from, Raven still saw as something that would come together again. It made you feel sick, like you’d done something terrible, even though there was no way you could’ve known.

And then everything went to shit, and Finn ended up fired from The Library, with a misdemeanor assault on his record.

You really shouldn’t be thinking about all of this right before going out to face him.

He’s turning to face you as you walk back out to stop at the edge of the room, with that earnest, puppy dog expression that you remember so easily falling for back then – it’s tainted now.

“Clarke, hey.” He shares a quick look with Raven then stands up and walks around the couch to greet you, maybe even with a hug, but as he gets to about three feet away from you, you cross your arms and make your body language very clear: stay right there. He does.

“Long time no see.” You chuckle, dryly. Sardonically.

“Yeah, uh…” He scratches the back of his neck with his own awkward chuckle. “Yeah.”

The air between you two is thick with tension, until a loud sniffle breaks the silence. He turns to glance at Jasper before turning back to you in a whisper. “Sucks what happened. Who can fire a face like that with a clear conscience?”

You purse your lips. “She’s just doing her job.”

“Cold, though. Real cold.” He tries to joke.

“Can we not? This is only the third time in the last hour I’ve had to get this whole spiel.”

“No, yeah, of course. Sorry.” He rubs at the back of his neck again. “How have you been?”

“Fine.” You say, short.

He raises his brows at your response before taking a breath.

“Look, Clarke…” He starts, taking a step forward, which is met with a step back on your part. He sighs, dropping his hands. “I’d like to talk, sometime. About everything. I never got to apologize.”

You grind your teeth.

“If you’re open to that.” He adds quickly.

You shake your head. “Look, I’m glad you and Raven are cool now, really. I am.” His expression drops noticeably. “But I’m not in that same place. I have a lot of other things on my mind right now, and this,” You uncross one of your arms to make a motion between the two of you with your hand. “Isn’t something I want to be messing with right now.”

“Clarke, I,“ He practically chuckles. “I’m not trying to start anything with you again, I promise–“

“I don’t really care.” You cut him off. “The point is, you lied to me, and Raven, and that kind of bullshit isn’t an okay basis for _any_ kind of relationship.” He starts to try to say something but you continue. “And that’s without talking about the shit you pulled the night you got fired from the bar.”

“I was just trying to defend you, that guy was all over you.”

“I’m sorry, did I _ask_ you to do that?” Your voice raises enough that people in the living area can probably listen in over the music. “I’m a fucking bartender, Finn. I deal with gross creeps every goddamn day. That doesn’t mean you step in like some kind of,” You throw up air quotes, “ _’hero’_ to start a fight with a harmless stupid drunk and get him sent to the hospital.”

He steps a little closer, making a _simmer down, please_ motion with his hands. “Look, you’re right. I know. And I’m sorry. Can we not talk about this right now, right here?” He says in a low voice, glancing behind him. Raven keeps looking back with a concerned expression. It’s like he doesn’t want her to know how much what happened actually hurt you, because that means it was more serious than he’d let on. Or than you’d let on, for that matter.

You almost feel sick. “I’m not – I gotta go. I have a piece I was supposed to be working on. I can’t deal with this right now.” You shake your head, rubbing your brow.

“Wait, okay. I get it. But I still want to make things right, and I’d still like to talk.” Finn says, pleading as you start to walk past him. He places a hand on your bicep to stop you, which you immediately throw off. “Sorry.” He recoils his hand. “Raven has my number, if you don’t anymore.” You don’t. “Just…let me know. Let me buy you a drink. Or coffee, or something.”

“Just. I don’t know. I gotta go.”

You feel bad that you don’t take the time to console Jasper, or acknowledge Raven’s confused and concerned look. You just walk out, straight for the art department and key into your studio space.

You have to deal with your mom this week. You have to deal with fucking Finn this week, and all the consequential shit with Raven that you’ve never talked about.

_Do you love him?_

_I hardly know him._

Lie. You were falling for him when it all went to shit.

And then _Lexa_. Goddamn Lexa and the way she can coax everything out of you with so much as a gentle nudge, after five goddamn days of knowing her, and her understanding and her pureness. You keep picking up your phone because you’re so fucking frustrated and you want to talk to somebody, and it can’t be Raven, and it can’t be Bellamy, and it can’t be Lexa.

And then this goddamn fucking illustration piece. You sit there, constantly reaching for your phone as you sketch out multiple shitty concept thumbnails for somewhere around an hour. You violently scribble out the last thumbnail you draw, exasperated, before throwing down your sketchbook. “Fuck it.” You slide off your stool and gather your things again, leaving your space and locking the door behind you.

You need a drink.

There’s a solid four hours before you have to go in to do late night bar. You’re not going home, that’s for damn certain. And you probably shouldn’t drink at the place you work at right before clocking in.

So you’re not totally sure what possesses you to go to a bar you’ve only been to once before, but as soon as your Lyft drops you off and you step through the doors and are greeted with the low key ambiance of early evening and artwork on the walls, you know you made the right choice. When you see that Gus is the bartender, your relief at seeing a familiar face surprises you. A familiar face associated with Lexa, sure, but still.

“Hey, Gus.” You greet as you sit at one of the barstools.

“Clarke.” He nods, voice booming and gravelly. “Need a drink?” He’s polishing a wine glass. He seems to do that a lot.

“Please.” You sigh exaggeratedly. “Whatever pale ale you have right now. I’m in a bitter mood today.”

He chuckles at you as he sets down the pristinely clear wine glass to pour your beer, then sets it in front of you. You pull out your wallet before he raises his hand to stop you.

“I already told you, you’re on Lexa’s honorary tab.”

A fresh wave of guilt hits you, because last he saw of you, you and Lexa were getting very cozy and leaving the bar together. Clearly he hasn’t been updated on the situation.

“No, Gus, I insist. How much do I owe you?”

He narrows his eyes before shrugging. “Nine even.”

Well, she wasn’t kidding about overpriced drinks. You toss down eleven.

Gus throws his bar rag over his shoulder after cashing you out. “Now what’s put you in a bitter mood today?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Oh, you know. A whole premium selection of things.”

“Hm.” He nods, eyeing you, and you wonder if he’s going to ask you something about Lexa, and you’d rather not bring her up with someone that seems to be something of a father figure to her, so you divert into a subject you know he’ll be interested in talking about.

“I was trying to work on an illustration assignment, but I ran into some pretty nasty artist’s block. All my thumbnail sketches are garbage.”

He visibly perks up, which is exactly what you’d hoped for.

“Ah, an artist.” He strokes his beard lightly, appreciative. “Well if you need a scenery change for inspiration, you could come in for Sunday brunch and work on it here. It’s more or less a public open studio time.”

“Yeah, that’s what Lex–“ _So much for not bringing Lexa up._ “Lexa mentioned that. That’s a really cool thing you guys do here.”

“So we’ll see you then?”

This makes you pause, because this is Lexa’s place, but truth be told, you really wouldn’t mind a change of scenery while you work on your piece. Normally you don’t like to work in front of others, but if you’re a mimosa or three in, you probably won’t care. “You know, why not. That sounds great.”

“Good! It’s settled.” He slaps his hands onto the bar, ready to continue conversation until he notices someone with an empty drink at the other side of the bar and leaves to tend to them.

It’s just a change of scenery. Sure, there’s a good chance Lexa will be here, but that shouldn’t affect your decision.

God, you’re a mess.

“Now how did you and Lexa meet?” Gus startles you from your thoughts, making you jump slightly. Your stomach churns with that guilt again. You bite your lip for a few seconds before you respond.

“We’re actually coworkers.” You say, and he sends you a confused furrow of his brow at your answer. “Lexa’s working over at The Library again.” You explain.

“Ah. She must have just re-started, then.” He nods in understanding. “So you know her from when she worked there before?”

You purse your lips. You’re not sure if his assumption is based in how absurd it is to make out with a coworker having only known them for a day, or if it’s based in how well he knows Lexa. Probably a combination of both. “No, uh.” You let out a sharp puff of a chuckle, shaking your head. “That day she and I came here was actually, um, the first time I’d worked with her.”

He pushes off the bar, then, and eyes you for a moment before tilting his head back in a nod. “Ah.”

The air between you two has shifted now.

“Yeah.” You say simply, taking a sip of your beer. You avoid looking him in the eye.

You can feel his eyes on you still, and his next statement is measured, as if more about how you respond to it than the statement itself:

“Well, Lexa is a very private person. She could have a new girlfriend for five months or five days and I would probably find out at the same time either way.”

There it is. You close your eyes briefly before responding. “We’re – I’m not. She and I aren’t together.” _Per se_ almost escapes your mouth after that, which shocks you into further guilt.

“I see.” He says, curt.

“So now you get why I wanted to pay for my drink.” You gesture with your hand vaguely, trying to lighten the situation a little. He doesn’t seem particularly amused, and certainly now more protective of Lexa than you’d initially surmised. In fact, he’s giving you this incredibly calculating look now, which is making you practically squirm in your seat.

“Clarke, I must be honest with you.”

Oh boy. You meet his eyes, tentatively expectant. Maybe a little afraid.

“I’ve known Lexa for some time. Ever since Costia…” He swallows, looking away for a moment. “Forgive me for saying this, Lexa.” He whispers to himself before continuing. “Lexa lost her love when she was twenty years old. That death hardened her in a way I never thought possible. And I think you should know that in the three years since, I’ve not seen her smile or look so happy as in the time she spent sitting in this bar with you.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest at his words. You open and close your mouth, trying to say something in response until he cuts back in.

“I don’t know you, Clarke.” He shrugs, eyes locked on you. “But I know Lexa, and I know that you must be something special for her to have taken to you the way she did in a day’s time. Because Lexa is special.”

“I know.” You say it quickly, voice cracking. Too quickly. “I know she is.” You say again, quieter.

“So you do know, then.” He fixes you with a stern stare. The statement is incredibly loaded – _you know she’s special, you know she can’t play games, you know she’s had a difficult past, you know you have the capability of hurting her._

 _I may have already,_ you think. Your mouth is dry as you think of something to say. “I…” You start, shaking your head. “I’ve known her for five days.” The words come out as kind of a croak. They feel like an admission.

A flash of recognition and understanding crosses his features, and he takes a long moment before he speaks, his words gentle and carefully spoken.

“Sometimes,” He says, “Five days is all it takes.”

He graciously drops the subject after this, but the words keep echoing in your mind.

_Five days is all it takes._

You chat idly with him about your art, and about school. You tell him what you want to do with your illustration – work for a major magazine, maybe even establish yourself well enough as an individual artist that you can live off of freelance commissions. You like the journalistic aspect of it. You talk about artists like Banksy, like Lucille Clerc, Lukova, the artists that incorporate real-life issues and social commentary into their work.

_Five days is all it takes._

He pours you another beer, then two, and when he’s not chatting with you about art things or encouraging you again to come in on Sunday – _maybe your art will find a home on these walls –_ he’s helping other customers, and you’re on your phone, tumbling or instagramming, what have you.

_Five days is all it takes._

Eventually, it gets to the time where you need to leave to get to your late night bar shift. In theory you should shower and change before you go in, because you didn’t shower this morning, and, well, you were out all day yesterday. But then Finn might be there, and that’s not something you care to deal with. Also you’re lazy, so there’s that.

You step out of the Lyft in front of The Library with a good twenty minutes to kill. There are a few people sitting on the bench in front of the restaurant, smoking. You entertain the idea of bumming one off of them to kill some time, but then you hear your father’s chastising voice in your head and decide against it. Besides, it’s cold and raining.

Except you do a double take, and the person on the far end, alone, is Lexa. She’s slumped, leaning on her knees, cigarette in one hand and a full whiskey glass dangling precariously in the other.

Something’s wrong.

“Hey.” You call out timidly, and she lifts her head, the hair under her red flat-billed cap messily coming out of her braid, covered in little droplets from the rain. Her eyes are glassy. She’s drunk.

“Clarke.” She sits up, fixing her posture and trying to straighten herself with a slight pout that you’d think was cute if you weren’t worried.

“I, uh.” You gesture to the cigarette in her hand, then the mostly full pack sitting next to her, which means she just bought it. “Didn’t know you were a smoker.”

Lexa snorts, harsh. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Clarke.”

Her response cuts more than you expect it to, and you wince.

_Five days is all it takes._

“I was actually wondering if I could bum one. Kill some time before I have to clock in.” You say, casual, as if her earlier words weren’t barbed.

She eyes you for a moment before silently pulling a new cigarette out of the box and handing it to you with a lighter.

You light the cigarette and sit down next to her, and you let the tense silence extend for a good minute or two of taking drags before you decide you’ve had enough.

“Something’s wrong.” You say bluntly.

Lexa grinds her teeth, jaw moving side to side as she flicks the ash from her cigarette and sets down her previously full glass. It’s now empty. Jesus. Then she takes a long drag, leaning against the back of the bench as she exhales, eyes closed.

“Do you ever feel like it’s your fault?”

You don’t have to see the way she’s tracing the lines of her tattoo to know what she’s talking about.

“Every day.” You say, quiet, honest. You could’ve chastised your mom for being distracted by a work text while driving. You could’ve asked her to slow down so you could be farther behind the driver that had just passed your mom’s car incredibly dangerously. You could’ve left him in his position in the car, because they later determined there was no danger of a vehicle fire, and maybe he wouldn’t have bled out so fast. You could’ve remembered the first aid kit in the trunk, and maybe his bleeding would have slowed. You could’ve saved him.

You wonder as you sit in silence if her thoughts are spiraling like yours are right now. Meanwhile, the only other couple people at the bench are now extinguishing their cigarettes and going back inside.

“I saw her father today.” She says finally. You look up at her, startled. Her face is devoid of emotion, empty. “Very conservative, religious man. Military. Tacoma.”

You nod, having some idea of where this is going.

“Naturally, he didn’t like me. Never did. He never outright disowned Costia, but he made it clear he hated that part of her, that loved me.” She lets out another angry puff of a laugh. “’Hate the sin, love the sinner.’”

You’ve never considered how fortunate you’d been to have grown up surrounded by so many liberal and accepting people. Your parents barely bat an eye when you told them you had a girlfriend, back in high school.

“He came in to the restaurant, with Costia’s brother.” She continues. “He’s probably starting school up here this semester. Good kid. He’d help her sneak out to see me when we were still teenagers, cover for her. Things like that.”

You match her sad smile.

“So of course when he saw me through that _damn_ open kitchen, he came to say hello.” She takes another drag. “I hadn’t seen him since she died. Her father forbade me from seeing him or trying to make contact with him or anyone in their family again.”

“Fuck.” You say, shocked that someone could be so cruel.

She just nods, taking another shaky drag.

“I’d missed him. I saw so much of her in the two minutes talking with him over the window before their father ushered him back. He’s less blonde now. Not so scrawny.”

You smile again, letting her take her time in telling you this. You wonder if she would be if she hadn’t been drinking, and then you wonder how much she’s had. Her eyes are dazed, voice numb. Like she’s already felt too much, completely spent, and all that’s left is the empty shell. You know the feeling.

“They ate, and her father kept looking at me over the window, like,” She cuts short, swallowing hard. “I told Sterling I’d cover their ticket, which he told them once they’d finished. A peace offering. He sent Aden to wait outside, then stormed up to the window and slammed a fifty down, told me it was my fault she’s dead, nothing will change that, stay away from Aden, then left.”

 _Holy fuck_. You stare at her profile, jaw dropped, before gathering yourself. You place a comforting hand on her back, pressing circles between her shoulder blades.

“I’m so, _so_ sorry, Lexa.” You say, quiet. “You know that’s not true, though, right? It’s not your fault.”

“She was driving to see me. She drove through the night on I-5 to see me while I was in San Francisco for my program, because she didn’t want to miss our fourth anniversary.” _Fuck._ “So she didn’t tell me, or anyone for that matter. I was worried when she stopped responding to texts and calls, and it got to the point where I was about to start calling her family, but Aden called me first.”

She’s shivering now, her half-smoked cigarette extinguished from the rain. You wrap an arm around her, rubbing her shoulders both as a comfort and to warm her up.

“Her head had been severed. She died instantly.” You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping her shoulders, aching for her. “Aden said there were flowers in the front seat.”

You don’t think she’s shaking just from the cold.

“It’s not your fault.” You say again.

She just shakes her head, mouth opening and closing, eyelids fluttering rapidly. You can only imagine the maelstrom of emotions running through her mind right now.

“Lexa.” You say, gently but firmly turning her face to look at yours. She’s barely held it together this entire time. Tears are pooled in her eyes, but it’s like she refuses to let them fall, unblinkingly looking back at you.

Her expression is so open, more open than you’ve ever seen it. Almost pleading.

“It wasn’t your fault.” You say one more time, begging her with your eyes to believe it.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually she’s able to blink away her tears – none fall – and she seems to regain herself. You know this feeling. Some days the memories flood and you feel like you can’t breathe, and you feel so much guilt and so much pain, and it’s harder to convince yourself it wasn’t your fault. Most days are good. The bad days happen less often, now. Lexa swallows, lifting her free hand to gently brush it against your own that’s cradling the side of her face.

_Five days is all it takes._

“Why are you…” She starts, eyes searching all over your face, scrunching her nose once or twice as if she’s figured out what she wants to say, then thinks better of it. “I should go home. I don’t ever get like this.” She finally says, shaking her head. “I also haven’t smoked in almost a year.” She mumbles, looking down at the wet cigarette between her fingers with mild disgust.

“Oh, yeah, hey. About that.” You pick up the pack next to her and toss it to the ground, immediately grinding your feet over it, effectively ruining all of the cigarettes. “Oh my god!” You say, slapping your hands to your cheeks, Home Alone-style, in pretend shock. “I am _so_ sorry! Here,” You reach into your pocket to pull out a ten dollar bill and stuff it into her hand. “Let me pay you back. I’m _soooo_ sorry about your cigarettes.”

Lexa looks down at the smashed up box, a little shocked for a moment, then looks back up at you and bursts into this adorable, almost silent laughter that scrunches her nose up. She practically hurls her head into the crook of your shoulder as she does so.

“God, I’m funny.” You sigh, chuckling along with her and continuing to rub her back.

You’re interrupted by your phone buzzing in your pocket. Bellamy. _Fuck._ You totally lost track of time. You slide the answer call button.

“Hey!”

Lexa startles at this, pushing herself off of you with unfocused eyes.

“Princess! Are you alive? I don’t think you’ve ever been late. Gina was worried you died.”

She’s trying to stand up, and it’s now that you realize how drunk she must be, especially after downing a double whiskey within a couple minutes. She pushes off the back of the bench with effort, and is swaying where she’s standing.

“Yeah, I – Lex,” You reach out to take her hand, trying to steady her. “We need to get you home.”

“Are you with Lexa?” Bellamy asks, in that incredulous tone he’s adopted a lot lately in relation to Lexa.

“You called me Lex.” She mumbles cutely, rubbing at her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m actually just right outside. Hold on.” You hang up abruptly, then stand up with Lexa.

“I’m fine–“ She tries to protest, but her actions betray her words as she clings to you, her head leaning into the crook of your shoulder.

“I know, just.” You gently nudge her until she’s sitting on the bench again. “Stay right here. I’ll be right back.” As she slumps down, you pick up the empty glass and stride through The Library’s doors. It’s only a Tuesday, so it’s not particularly busy. Bellamy is leaning over the bar, totally chatting Gina up. She seems to be into it, though.

“You hung up on me!” Bell calls once he notices you walk in, petulant as you walk over.

“You’ll be okay.” You roll your eyes at him before turning to Gina. “I’m so, so sorry Gina. I even got here twenty minutes early, but Lexa was outside, and–“

“Is she okay?” Gina asks, genuinely worried. “She just sat at the end of the bar and didn’t say a word all night. Occasionally go out to smoke.”

“Yeah, she’s been pounding whiskey since she got off like no tomorrow. She puking out there? I don’t want to have to clean that up tomorrow morning.”

 _Two types of people_.

“Thanks for the concern, Bell.” You say dryly, then turn back to Gina. “She’s okay now, I think. She just had a kind of personal crisis.” You sigh. “So I know I’m already like fifteen minutes late, but I think someone should take her home. She’s pretty toasted. Do you think you could cover me for like another twenty or so minutes?”

“Clarke.” Gina waves you off. “You can just go. I’ll close.”

“No, no, Gina–“ You protest.

“It’s really okay. Honestly, I kind of need the money. And it sounds like she needs someone to take care of her.”

She smiles kindly at you, which you return.

“Can I have her tab?” You say, shuffling through your purse for your wallet. She prints it out – Jesus, it’s almost thirty dollars, and that’s with the half-off discount. That would put her at about eight or nine double whiskeys all night, not including her shifter or random staff shots. You pull out two twenty dollar bills and pass them over to her.

“No change. Thanks again.”

“Don’t worry about it, really. You’re sweet for taking care of her.”

You smile, uncharacteristically shyly, then you turn to Bellamy with a raised brow.

“She’s way too good for you.” You deadpan, and don’t wait for a response before turning to leave.

“Hey!” He calls after you. “Rude as hell!”

You ignore him. “I owe you one Gina!”

The closing door muffles the sound of Gina laughing as you leave. Maybe she can shape him up.

You turn the corner to the bench, and – she’s not there.

“ _Fuck._ ” You whisper. You look up and down the street frantically, and thankfully it only takes you a few moments to notice the unmistakable stumbling form of Lexa not even a block away.

“Chrissake.” You curse under your breath as you jog to catch up with her, which isn’t hard. She can’t get very far without having to lean on a wall and steady herself. “Hey.” You say, pulling at her shoulders. She tries to swat you away. “Let’s get you home, alright?”

“That’s what I’m–“ She hiccups. God, she’s cute. “Doing.”

You snort. “If you think for one second I’m letting you walk home…where do you even live? C’mon, my car’s over here.”

She leans on you heavily as you lead her to your car, and you try to ignore the warmth that spreads through your chest at the action. You open the passenger door and help her into the seat – that last double really was the tipping point. Her eyes are drooping and she’s having a hard time keeping them open to look at you.

“Where do you live?” You repeat as you slide into the driver’s seat. You also immediately hand her a water bottle you keep in a cupholder. She takes several large gulps before she speaks again.

“I live on…” She trails off, waving her arm vaguely. “It’s near the, uh, department.”

You raise a brow at her, waiting for several seconds for her to be more descriptive. She just sits there, nonplussed, clearly ready to just pass out. “Very helpful.” You deadpan.

Lexa scowls, and you feel bad about how cute you think she is when she’s drunk like this, and clearly frustrated by her own inability to function fully. She keeps pouting; it’s such a far cry from the person she is when she runs the kitchen.

“Anya…” Her glassy eyes snap open then, alarmed, seeming to realize something. “I can’t go home.”

“What?” You huff, incredulous. “What do you mean you can’t go home.”

“I can’t go to my apartment. I live with Anya.”

“So? That’s good, she can make sure you’re settled and everything.” You had intended on doing that since you thought she lived alone, but it’s probably better it’s someone she knows well. Someone she’s known longer than five days.

_Five days is all it takes._

“She can’t…” She trails off, rubbing at her eyes again. “I haven’t been like this in a long time. I don’t want her to–“ She hiccups. “I don’t want her to worry.”

“Lex, I think she’d be more worried if you didn’t come home…”

She sits there, breathing in labored puffs. You wonder if she’s feeling nauseous.

“Lexa, I need your address.”

She shakes her head vehemently, eyes squeezed shut and swallowing every few seconds. The idea of going to her apartment must be really distressing. Or maybe she’s concentrating on trying not to puke. She grips the handle of your car door and you’re starting to become convinced it’s the latter.

“How much did you drink, Lex?” You say, concerned, as you rub the back of her neck.

She swallows hard, eyes still clamped shut. “A lot.”

The idea has been nagging at the back of your mind since she said she didn’t want to go to her apartment.

“Look,” This probably isn’t appropriate. “If you don’t want to go to your place that badly, I can take you to mine.” You say, then quickly add, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She looks over to you, and you can see the process of weighing her options all over her face until she finally nods, closing her eyes again and leaning back in her seat.

“Are you gonna be okay if I start driving?” You say, dubious, as you turn the ignition.

She nods again. She’s stopped swallowing, so you think she’s being honest and the nausea has passed.

It’s not a long drive, and it’s silent. When you pull into a space by your apartment, you realize it’s because she’s already fallen asleep.

“Lex.” You whisper, gently stroking the damp hair from her face. She had to have been freezing all night, in just her black work skinnies and a loose black racerback. “Lexa, c’mon, we’re here.”

Lexa stirs slightly, leaning into your touch. You pull your hand back quickly.

She keeps reaching out to you to steady herself as you enter the building with her, until eventually she’s using you as support, both hands gripping at your shoulder, very much drunk and probably both physically and emotionally exhausted.

“Almost there.” You grunt after a particularly large sway to the side on your path to your door, and you pull out the keys.

You key in, and the door is only a few inches open when you realize you’re a goddamn moron based on the music coming from right inside. For a split second you consider closing it again, quietly, in the hopes that no one inside noticed the door open. Except Lexa needs to pass out, and you don’t want to take the chance that someone will notice that the door opened and will come outside to see you hobbling away with a drunk Lexa.

“ _Fuck.”_ You whisper, grimacing as you push the door open.

It’s about as bad as it could’ve been. Raven, Jasper, Octavia and fucking Finn are all still here. Lincoln’s joined the party as well. They all freeze whatever they were doing and turn to look at you, and if you weren’t so mortified about stumbling in with the girl everybody knows you had sex with four days ago, said girl clearly incredibly drunk, you’d find the sheer variety of the looks on their faces absolutely hysterical. Octavia looks like she’s about to burst out laughing, but knows she shouldn’t. Lincoln’s eyes are widened in disbelief. Jasper’s looking at you both like you betrayed him by stabbing him in the back. Raven’s wearing a kind of terrifying wide-eyed, open-mouthed, _the fuck?_ smile. And then Finn’s looking at you both and everyone else with a comically confused face.

“Uh, hey.” You say simply, trying to get Lexa to move forward. Her eyes are closed and she’s practically burrowed into your neck until the sound of everyone’s awkward greeting in reply stirs her. She takes a bleary-eyed look around the room and snaps to attention when she realizes you’re not alone anymore. As if that wasn’t enough, she pulls back enough to try and glare at you in front of everybody, which ends up looking more like that cute pout she’s been wearing all night, swaying on the spot.

“C’mon.” You usher her to the bedroom hallway and into your room, closing the door behind you.

Lexa immediately tumbles onto your bed, face first into the blankets, and you sit beside her. She lets out a long groan.

“Sorry.” You say. “I didn’t realize–“

“So humiliating.” She groans again, muffled by blankets. “And unprofessional.”

You chuckle softly at that, and start rubbing circles into her back again. “I promise each and every one of them has seen much worse.”

A gentle knock sounds at the door, and you yank your hand away from Lexa’s back on instinct.

“I’ll be right back.” You whisper to her. “Get you some water.”

“Mm.” She hums in response.

Raven and Octavia are standing outside your door when you quietly exit, wearing the exact same expressions as when you first walked in the door, now with a hint of expectance.

“Oh my god, _what?_ ” You demand in a harsh whisper.

“Number one,” Raven starts with a closed-eyed sigh, pressing her pointer fingers together, to her lips, then pointing them at you. “You’re supposed to be at work right now.”

“Number two,” Octavia cuts in, then starts pointing animatedly at your bedroom door. “ _That. That right there._ ”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.” You huff, pushing past them to get to the kitchen. You need a glass of water for her. Maybe a plastic bin for her to puke in if she needs to. Triple lined with grocery bags, of course. You’ve learned that lesson before.

“Whoa.” Octavia says from next to you as you turn the faucet to fill a glass. “Calm down, we just want to know what’s up.”

You sigh, exasperated, and glance behind you at everyone else. It seems pretty clear that they’ve effectively stopped everything that they were doing before you burst in with Lexa. You run a hand through your hair before turning to address everyone since they’re all nosy as _hell_. “I was on my way to late bar, and she was outside, and really, really drunk, and needed to go home.” You pull out a handful of grocery bags from under the sink. “Gina told me she’d close so I could help her.” You bite your lip, because you know most of the story isn’t anywhere near yours to share. “She lost her keys.” You lie, hoping it won’t be given a second thought. “So I told her she could crash here for the night and I could stay on the couch. I just forgot you guys might still be here.”

Everyone seems satisfied by your explanation. Except Jasper, who’s just shaking his head with pursed lips and that same betrayed expression, but at least he’s not questioning you.

“So yeah. I’m gonna go take care of her, and I’ll be right back out.”

You re-enter your room quietly, noting Lexa’s deep breathing. You set the garbage can at the side of the bed, and the glass of water on the nightstand nearest her. It takes a few seconds of hesitation before you decide to help her into bed, pulling off her shoes. You debate helping her take her jeans off so she’s more comfortable, but think better of it. Bad idea.

“Hey,” You coax her gently, trying to pull the blankets over her.

“Mmm.” She sighs.

“Lex, lift up so I can get these blankets over you.”

She obeys, and you pull the covers over her while she curls into herself at the edge of the bed, facing you as you crouch next to her.

“I like it when you call me Lex.” She whispers sleepily, eyes closed.

You try to ignore the fluttering in your chest, and the way your heart rate quickens, but you do allow yourself to trace your fingertips over her temple just once, moving stray hair from her face. Your eyes explore her face, and the creeping realization of how damn beautiful she is nearly steals the breath from your lungs as you admire her, all elegant features, the gentle curve of her eyelids, the bow of her lips.

_Five days is all it takes._

You shake your head out of your thoughts. “I’ll be on the living room couch if you need anything, okay?”

Lexa scrunches her nose in response, and you’re about to push yourself up until a hand reaches out to grab your wrist and stop you.

“They’re still out there, you…” She lets go of your wrist and you see her ribs rise in a deep breath before she says, in the most timid voice you’ve ever heard from her, “You should stay.” _Here. With me. In your bed._

“Is that…” You falter. “Do you want me to?”

Lexa bites her lip for a second, eyes still closed, then gives the tiniest nod.

So you do. You don’t bother changing before sliding underneath the covers on the other side of the bed; it’d feel unfair to leave Lexa the only one still in damp street clothes. You lie on your back next to her, tense and a little nervous for a minute before you feel the mattress shift, and then suddenly she’s draped along your side and tucked into the crook of your neck.

_Five days is all it takes._

You don’t fight the urge to stroke her hair as you both fall asleep, and you even let your lips press to her forehead, and you think maybe, _just maybe,_ you can do this.

* * *

You wake up only a little disoriented, but mostly very uncomfortable, still jeans-clad. And cold. Lexa’s gone, and you reach for your phone – _9:09_ , _Wednesday, September 28._ You wonder if maybe she had to leave early for work this morning.

You notice a little note at the edge of your nightstand and assume the answer will be written there, except you reach over to look at it and it’s approximately five sentences longer than you’re expecting it to be.

_Clarke –_

It starts in an elegant yet controlled, upright script, with wide spaces in between words.

_I’m deeply, deeply sorry for my behavior last night. I should have let you take me to my own apartment, but thank you for making sure I was somewhere safe. I’ve not had that much to drink in months; years, even. I wasn’t myself, and I’m sorry you had to see me in such a disastrous state. I promise this won’t happen again. I can give you some space, and I’ll be strictly professional with you from now on._

Your stomach drops. This isn’t what you wanted.

_I’ll see you at work Friday evening._

_– Lexa_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you have expressed that one of the things you like about this fic is that Clarke's internal conflict and the resulting drama feels organic, so I hope that still rings true. Hopefully I'm not catapulting everything into eyeroll-worthy melodrama. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I definitely feel like the only reason Lexa would retreat like she is now is if she felt like she'd lost control over herself, and overstepped boundaries with Clarke, which is something we never actually saw from her in the canon show. (why were we robbed of a drunk Lexa scene god w HY) Generally, I definitely think both Clarke and Lexa are kind of uptight people that are deeply afraid of being out of control, in just about any sense of the word, so I think falling for someone in the span of about a week would be really, really scary for both of them. And they're both definitely scared by how easily they open up to one another.
> 
> Also, I always liked the idea of Aden being Costia's little brother.


	4. Part IV

You read the note over several times after you wake up. You debate for a moment before you pull your phone out, and stare at the blank new message screen before typing.

 

_hey, I just saw your note. I don’t want you to feel like you have to give me space._

 

Maybe _she_ wants space, though. You shouldn’t assume. And you shouldn’t make it about you. You backspace.

 

_hey, I read the note you left. hope you’re doing okay, and I hope you know that you shouldn’t be sorry for anything. I’m glad I was the one that could be there for you last night._

 

You wrinkle your nose, backspacing to change the text.

 

_I’m just glad you had someone with you last night, and I’m happy for it to have been me._

 

But then, maybe the events of last night and yesterday, concerning Costia at least, aren’t something she wants to relive. You backspace again with a frustrated sigh. Maybe you should just wait to talk to her in person.

Octavia is mercifully the only one at home when you go out into the living room. She’s on her laptop at the kitchen island, books and papers scattered around her as she sips on her coffee, eyes scanning her screen in concentration. She immediately sets down her coffee mug when she sees you walk out.

“Morning.” You say with an exaggerated yawn. “What’re you working on?” You try to make small talk knowing there are all kinds of conversation topics she probably wants to bring up right now. You avoid looking at her and beeline straight for the half-full pot of coffee, pouring yourself a mug in silence.

“Paper for Conservation Ethics.” She says simply, and you notice her leaning on her elbows to unsubtly study you out of the corner of your eye. You can tell she’s waiting for you to say something throughout the tense silence. Finally, she breaks it.

“So…you didn’t come back out last night.”

“I slept on the floor to make sure she was okay.” You lie quickly. You turn around then, sipping on your coffee. She bites her lip like she’s not really sure she believes you.

“Sorry about Finn.” She says, breaking another tense silence. “I tried to tell her she needed to run that by you first.”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head, not knowing which is worse: talking about the Finn Thing or the Lexa Thing.

You’re pretending to look through the mail sitting on the counter when you hear her sigh. “Do you think maybe you should talk to her? The only reason she thought that would be okay at all is because you made it sound like it was a meaningless fling.”

Oh, so it’s _your_ fault now?

“Yeah, well, so did he.”

There’s a pregnant pause, as if she’s debating whether she should say what she’s about to. “No, Clarke,” Octavia finally sighs exasperatedly. “He didn’t. I don’t think he and Raven ever even talked about it. She’s only ever referenced what _you_ said happened when she talks about it.”

This makes you pause, but you turn sharply to face her anyway, defensive, except she’s cut you off before you can respond.

“Like, you can’t get mad at Finn for lying like a year ago when you’re constantly lying to yourself, and _everybody_ around you.”

Um, _excuse me?_

“How is this any of your _fucking_ business?” You snap. Typical Octavia, aggressively butting into situations that don’t involve her. “And why do you care, anyway?”

“Clarke.” She says firmly, her eyes suddenly pleading instead of just accusatory. “I just want you to be straight with me, okay? You’re one of my best friends. I cried with you for hours when Lincoln relapsed. I can tell when you’re lying.”

You open and close your mouth in stunned silence, torn between stubbornly responding with more anger, and responding calmly and apologetically, but she continues before you’re given the chance to decide.

“It’s _exhausting,_ Clarke. For us to watch. For _me_ to watch.” She says, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. “Not to mention you turn into kind of a bitch when you’re stressed.” You open your mouth to protest, but she keeps going. “And I understand you should be able to deal with shit however you want to, but,” She shakes her head. “Don’t pretend like you don’t have friends who care about you and care about what’s really going on with you.”

This honestly kind of floors you. You have no idea what to say.

“Look, I’m gonna tear you a new asshole for a second, and you’re gonna deal with it.” She says, sighing deeply before bursting her next impassioned words with emphatic hand motions. “Sometimes I feel like you don’t see us as your friends, and–”

“What _?_ That’s _ridiculous_ –“

She cuts you off. “Let me finish. It’s like you see us as people that need taking care of, like you’re our fucking mom or something. We’re all constantly coming to you with our problems, but when we can _all fucking tell_ something’s going on with you, you act like nothing’s wrong. Like, you literally never told anyone the truth about the Finn thing. We just figured it out, and you grudgingly admitted we were right.”

“Look, just because I’m a little more private than you guys–“

“That’s not it, though.” She says, exasperated, snapping her laptop shut. “I don’t know if you don’t trust anyone or what it is. I don’t know. What I _do_ know is that,” She starts counting on her fingers, “Your ex that you fell super hard and fast for is back in your life with no warning, thanks to Raven,” She counts a second finger. “Your _mom_ who you avoid like the plague is visiting in two days,”

You huff. Of course she told Octavia. “Damn it, Raven.”

“Nuh-uh.” She wags the two fingers at you, then puts up a third, “And the thing that’s _clearly_ affecting you the most out of all of these is whatever is going on between you and Lexa, which means it’s a big deal, and _definitely_ a way bigger deal than you’re letting on with any of us.”

You _really_ don’t give her enough credit, because everything she’s said to you hit the nail right on the head. Still, you flush with heated anger, but you can’t seem to find the right thing to say. You’re sure you look like an agitated teenager right now, huffing and clenching your jaw.

“But hey, if you wanna keep shutting everyone out, fine.” She says with a note of finality, crossing her arms expectantly.

You finally find your voice, but it’s weaker now, despite the still red flare of…anger? Embarrassment? Contentiousness? You’re not sure exactly. “That’s not fair.” You say.

She shrugs flippantly. “Yeah, maybe not. And maybe I’m the only one of us that’s enough of an asshole to call you out on it, but at least I’m doing it because I fucking _care_ about you, okay?”

“So what,” You scoff. “Now I suddenly tell you the truth about everything that’s been going on? I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“That’s exactly how it works.” She fixes you with a hard stare. “Sit down.”

You’re not sure why you obey, but you do, and take a seat at one of the stools at the kitchen island next to her with a frustrated huff. You think maybe you’re just tired. Even Octavia seems shocked that you actually sit, and didn’t just stomp off back into your room or something.

“So, let’s start with last night. You skipped a shift. You never skip shifts.”

You sigh, grabbing a pen from her mess of schoolwork and a notebook and start scribble doodling. “I got to The Library like twenty minutes early, and she was outside smoking and really, really drunk. Drinking outside, actually.”

“That…seems unlike her.”

You nod. “I knew something was wrong. So I sat and talked with her for a little while, found out what was up.”

“What was up?” She asks, curious.

You bite your lip in debate for a moment before speaking. “Look, I don’t know how many people know this, so you have to promise not to tell anyone.” She won’t tell. Octavia is many things – headstrong, really goddamn stubborn, a fuse as short as her brother’s – but she’s loyal. She nods. “She had a girlfriend that died in a car accident about three years ago. Yesterday some pretty nasty shit came up with that, involving her girlfriend’s very, very conservative and very shitty father. So that’s why she was so upset and so fucked up.”

“Jesus.” Octavia breathes. “Did you already know? Or was last night the first time she’d told you?”

“I already knew.” You say, then take a breath. “We actually…she and I talked about her girlfriend and my dad the first night we hung out.”

“Wow.” She raises her eyebrows. “You opened up to her really quickly.”

“Yeah.” You shake your head with the tiniest hint of a smile that you can’t really help. _I really did_. “But yeah, and then she didn’t want to go home, because she didn’t want Anya to see how she was and worry about her.”

“Gee, sounds like someone else I know.” Octavia interjects dryly, raising a brow at you.

You roll your eyes at her. “Enough, okay? You want me to be straight with you or not?”

She scrunches up into a confused face. “I thought you were bisexual?” You roll your eyes again as she laughs. “Sorry, too easy. Keep going.”

You give her a pointed look before continuing. “So I told her she could crash here.” You laugh bitterly. “Which was a mistake.” You scribble harder.

“Why?” Octavia asks. “You guys didn’t…” She raises a suggestive brow.

“No.” You say firmly. “No, she was way too drunk. I would never have tried anything, or let her.”

“Hey, just checking. Anyway,” She gestures for you to continue.

“She,” You lick your lips anxiously. “She asked me to stay with her. In the bed. I really was gonna come back out, and just go to sleep on the couch whenever you guys were done.”

She leans back in her stool. “You were gonna brave the social awkwardness of Finn being here…so you wouldn’t have to sleep in the same bed as a girl you’ve already had sex with?”

You sigh, scratching out a particularly shitty doodle in exasperation. “There’s more to it than that.”

Octavia gestures between the two of you, then around the room. “That’s why we’re here, Princess. This paper’s not due ‘til midnight, and I know you don’t have class until one. No excuses.”

“Who’s the mom now, huh?” You tease.

“Me.” She pats her chest, _so_ proud of herself. “It’s me. Now, you were saying?”

You sigh, dropping the pen and rubbing your temples. “It’s really complicated.” You pout.

“I bet it’s not.” She says, growing irritated. “Tell me.”

You take a breath. “The first time we had sex, it was…”

“Incredible? Mind-blowing? Really, really good?”

“Oh my _god_ , let me finish. Try just sitting there and listening for once, would you?”

She gives you an almost apologetic look. Almost.

“We had sex that first night we hung out. But it wasn’t one-night-stand sex or even the _I-might-like-you-but-for-now-let’s-just-fuck_ sex. It was…” You gesture vaguely, pen in hand. You don’t even know how to describe it.

“Like you’d been building up to it for months instead of days?” She interjects, knowing. Like she’d experienced it herself.

You exhale. “That’s…yeah.”

She nods. “So you got scared.”

You thud your head against the notebook, mumbling pathetically under the curtain of your hair, “I left the bedroom and told her I wasn’t in a place to be seeing anyone when she came out.”

“And then you invited her out and made out with her in a club three days later.”

You make a clicking noise with your tongue and finger guns, face still buried in the notebook. “Yeeep.” You say with a pop of your lips at the ‘p’. “I did that.”

“So what’s the big deal, then? Stop playing games and go get the girl.” As if it’s so simple.

“I don’t know that she wants that.”

You hear her groan, irritated. “Do you even hear yourself? She asked you to stay with her _last night_. I bet you guys even cuddled, didn’t you?”

You push off the island counter. “That’s besides the point now. She left me a note this morning that basically said she’ll be professional with me from now on.”

“So? She was probably embarrassed. You just need to go talk to her, Clarke.”

You’re surprised by how much talking to Octavia takes the edge off. It’s not that you don’t trust your friends, per se, or even that you’re all that private. Your indulgences with Bellamy and an unwilling Raven about sexcapades can attest to that. You just don’t like to bother people with your problems, but clearly keeping them bottled up is causing everybody more stress than it’s saving.

You shower and get ready for the day, and you have a good hour until you have to go to your topics course, so you decide to stop by work. You figure Lexa must be working, if she’s not working with you tonight.

Raven’s bartending when you walk in. You need to talk to her as well.

“We got Dead Guy back on tap, you want one for your shifter?” Raven greets immediately as you slide onto a stool – the one farthest from the kitchen.

You moan theatrically. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“Damn right you do.” She nods, beginning to fill a pint glass with the amber-colored beer. “Lunch before class?”

You sneak a glance over to the kitchen, and see that tell-tale red flat-billed cap. Really, you just ate, but this gives you an excuse to get a conversation going with Lexa. Lunch rush hasn’t quite started yet, so you don’t feel too bad bothering her.

“Yeah. Go ahead and ring in a chicken salad with bleu for me, I’m gonna spec rec Lexa really quick.”

“Oooooh.” Raven wiggles her brows, then winks. “Special request away, tiger.”

This earns her a mildly annoyed glare from you before you make the walk over to the kitchen window, swallowing nervously as you approach.

“Hey.” You say, leaning your head on your arms at the window. She’s cutting onions when she looks up, and something flashes across her face before it turns completely impassive. She then pulls up the ticket Raven just rang in for you, probably sees that your name is on it, then looks at you expectantly. You swallow again. “Do you think you could put some avo and diced jalapeños on that for me, too?”

She nods cordially. Detached. “Of course. Just make sure you have Raven upcharge.”

You flush slightly. “Oh, yeah, of course.” You haven’t ordered food from Lexa yet – generally the cooks will make you just about anything you want short of a full pizza if you ask nicely – so you’re not sure if her wanting to make sure you’re upcharged is a practice she’s now trying to put in place as the new manager, or if it’s a result of this new ‘professional’ status she’s trying to enforce between the two of you. You linger as she starts preparing your salad, because obviously there’s more you want to say to her. Maybe you should’ve ditched the spec rec pretense.

Lexa looks back up at you with a raised brow. “Was there something else you needed, Clarke?”

You pretend like the detached tone she uses with you doesn’t sting. “Uh, yeah. Sort of.” You stutter with a nervous laugh. “Are you doing alright? I saw your note this morning, and…” You trail off, because she’s looking at you with the impassive, cold eyes that you’ve never really gotten from her before today, that you’ve only seen her give to others.

“I’m fine, Clarke.” She says with a tone of finality.

You purse your lips. This is not how you thought this conversation was going to go. You try a different approach. “So I went back to Cadmium Red last night.” You start, casually eyeing the restaurant and running a hand through your hair to belie the nervousness you feel. “Talked to Gus about art things.” _And you._ “So I decided to go ahead and try the open studio brunch thing this Sunday, since I have a piece due Monday morning.” You take a little breath, finally looking back over at her. “Would you want to go?”

There’s a flash of something, surprise, you think, before her face is unreadable again, and she looks back down at food prep.

“I don’t think so, Clarke.”

Your stomach drops more than you thought possible at the response. You hope it doesn’t show in your face or your posture. “Oh.” You say, trying not to sound as disappointed as you feel. “It's cool. You’re probably working anyway, huh.”

“I’m not.” She says without looking up, a little short, and that’s all the answer you need. Your chest burns in embarrassment as you nod, taking the hint and backing away from the window.

You purse your lips again. “Well, cool.” It comes out harsher than you mean for it to. “I’ll see you Friday night, then. Sorry for distracting you.” You wave a weakly flippant hand at her as you turn to walk back to the bar.

Raven’s giving you a teasing smile as you walk over, which starts falling into a confused frown as she sees the dejected look on your face.

“Lexa wants you to make sure you upcharge for avo and jalaps.” You practically mumble.

“Uh, yeah, no. Fuck that.” She shakes her head, then nods in the direction of the kitchen. “What’s her deal?”

You sigh, eyes closed as you take a sip of your beer. “Long story. I’ll tell you later.” You open your eyes to see that disbelieving look you’re now realizing you’ve gotten a lot lately, particularly from her, O, and Bell. “I really will tell you later.” You add, almost with strain. She seems to believe you. “Also, hey.” You figure now is as good a time as any. No one’s at the bar just yet. “I think we should talk.”

Raven looks startled, raising her brows, then blinks her surprise away. “Yeah, okay, what’s up?”

You groan internally. _Talking is haaaard._ “This whole Finn thing…” You start, and Raven purses her lips just slightly. “Do you think he could not come to the apartment? At least until I talk to him?” She looks like she wants to protest, opening her mouth before you cut her off. “Hear me out for a second, okay? I’m trying this new thing today called being honest about my feelings.”

If she looked startled before, she looks rendered practically speechless now. You’d laugh at her expression if you weren’t so occupied with the effort of forcing what you need to say out of your mouth.

You exhale. “I wasn’t totally honest with you.” You begin as you nervously spin your glass around on its coaster. “I know I said it wasn’t a big deal, that I hardly knew him, but…” _You gotta do it, Clarke._ “I lied. Like, yeah, it was only about a month, and he and I were never even technically together. But there were some pretty intense feelings involved, at least on my end. The truth is,” You sigh. “The truth is, that’s the worst my heart’s ever been broken.”

Raven’s crossed her arms now, leg bouncing, avoiding eye contact with you. She’s clenching her jaw.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t straight with you. I guess I was worried about ruining our new friendship, you know? I didn’t want to do that for some guy.”

“He’s not just some guy.” She grits out.

“I know. To you, he’s not. I know that. He’s family.” You say quickly. “But to me? He may as well have been.”

She stands there for a good minute or two in silence, still grinding her teeth and bouncing her leg until she finally sighs, rubbing her brow.

“I think I knew. I think a part of me always knew that.” She admits, taking several breaths before giving you a sincerely apologetic look. “I’m sorry too. Because I think that’s part of why I didn’t tell you he’d be at the house, or even ask if it was okay that he was. I think I was…still angry.”

You nod, understanding. “It’s okay.”

“And then I think…” She exhales sharply through pursed lips. “I think I saw how you were with Lexa that first night, and, I don’t know. It’s not that I’m not over Finn, but I think.” Tears are starting to pool in her eyes. “I think I was angry that you had found something special, so quickly.” Your stomach churns. “And I still haven’t been able to let go of this whole thing and move on.”

“It takes time.” You assure, leaning over the bar a little awkwardly to squeeze a comforting hand over her crossed arms. She flinches at the touch slightly, then relaxes, wiping at her eyes. “Are you sure you’re ready for him to be back in your life, then?”

She shrugs with a harsh laugh. “I have no fucking idea. I just knew I missed him.”

You nod. Fair enough. It’s not your place to tell her she might not be ready.

She shudders dramatically, as if exorcising the rare show of emotions, aggressively wiping at her eyes one last time before huffing and adopting her usual demeanor of no-bullshit nonchalance. You think this is part of what makes her such a great bartender.

“So what’s with you and the Commander?”

You drop back down to your stool and give her a _really?_ look at the use of Lexa's nickname.

“She was particularly bitchy today, just saying.” She defends, throwing her hands up.

“I might’ve fucked it up,” You reply, dejected, as you glance back over to the kitchen. As if she knew you’d started talking about her, she pulls the ticket for your salad and calls _Order up, Raven, please!_ , then notices that both of you were already looking in her direction. The way she kind of bashfully glances away when she sees this is painfully cute, and leaves an ache in your chest. Raven strides over to grab the salad and sets it in front of you. “But I’m working on it.” You finish.

Except she doesn’t give you the chance. When you come back to work at four later that day, Lexa doesn’t stay for her shifter – she clocks out at the bar computer just after you’ve clocked in, doesn’t say a word to you, and just leaves.

The next day is the exact same situation. You come to work from your studio time, and all you get from her is a _hello, Clarke_ before she’s out the door once again.

There’s a burning in your chest and behind your eyes as you watch her walk out the door both times, and you find yourself simmering in that anger and embarrassment for those whole two days before you have to work with her again. Octavia and Raven are both trying to be sympathetic – you later told Raven basically what you told Octavia – but that only makes you feel worse. Because you _know._ You know Lexa, because you know yourself, and you know it’s all bullshit. It took Octavia chewing your ass for you to realize you’re a giant hypocrite, and it takes everything in you not to storm into the kitchen at five o’clock on a Friday evening, back her up into one of the prep tables, and do the same to her.

The most infuriating thing about it is you feel like you can’t even say anything. You can’t ask her to give you the time of day, because you were the one that fucked things up and played hot and cold with her in the first place. And it’s not like you can pull the _can we please be adults_ card, because she’s been nothing but professional, if a bit clipped.

How can you call someone out for acting differently with you when you’ve only known them for a week?

You’re biting your lip in agitation, eyes trained on Lexa’s form in the kitchen as you fill up a pint glass with Pepsi when a new person sits down directly in front of you at the bar. You put your cordial bartender mask back on as you turn to greet them.

“Mom?” You startle.

“Hey, Clarke.” She smiles warmly at you, almost watery. You haven’t even seen her since Christmas when she came to the city, because you’ve refused to let her pay for you to visit, and you know she almost never has time off. Glamorous life of a surgical physician. You shouldn’t sound so surprised; you knew she was going to be here today. You just didn’t think she’d come to your work to see you.

“I know you have a busy schedule, so I figured I’d drop in for dinner. Have you eaten yet?”

“No, I’ll eat at home after I get off.” You shake your head, pressing your lips together. You don’t like eating on the clock in front of customers; you think it’s tacky. You look around at the rest of the bar. Unfortunately, none of your patrons today are the chatty type, so it’s not like you have any excuse to not talk to her. You start to hand her a food menu, which she waves off. “Something to drink, then?”

“Surprise me.”

You pour her a beer – one of your favorite beers ever, actually – and pretend like you weren’t expecting the slightly sour expression she makes when she sees it’s beer and not wine or a cocktail.

“It’s my favorite beer. Dead Guy. From Portland.”

She nods in appreciation, almost believably interested.

“How are you, Clarke?”

“Busy.” You say, short. “I work four to five days a week and I’m a full time student, so I’m really busy all the time.”

She studies you with concern. “Are you getting enough sleep, sweetheart?” Maybe you look more exhausted than you’d realized. 

You sigh, exasperated. “Yes, mom.”

She shakes her head at you with a small smile, wincing down a sip of her beer. “You really are your father’s daughter.” You tense at the mention of Jake. “Remember those couple months before launch? I’d be getting home from a night shift at two in the morning and he’d already be waking up to go to work.”

“Yeah, so he could come home and spend time with his family in the evening.” It’s a pretty obviously barbed statement, because Abby was rarely around for those evenings after school growing up. You shouldn’t hold it against her, because working at a hospital means a lot less flexibility schedule-wise. You’re not sure why you’re trying to make her feel bad. You think maybe you’re just on edge and feeling testy.

“No, you’re right.” She nods with a sad smile, taking your barb graciously. “He was a wonderful father.”

You want her to stop talking about him. You’re about to pointedly change the subject when suddenly Lexa appears next to you with her empty water bottle, her imposing presence wordlessly forcing you to move aside so she can use the soda gun. You watch her as she fills it, your jaw clenched and obviously staring. _Just talk to me, damn it_ , you think.

She doesn’t. She doesn’t even look at you, just finishes filling the bottle, caps it, and silently walks back into the kitchen.

“That was…” Abby breaks the silence. You almost forgot she was here. “…odd.”

You look back at her, and her eyes are darting between a raised brow at you and a side-eye towards the kitchen. You ignore the statement and her altogether and busy yourself with washing glasses. Which only takes about thirty seconds, since there’s like six sitting in the sink. So you walk back over to stand in front of Abby again, in awkward silence. She takes another tiny sip of her beer and opens her mouth to speak again, which you pre-emptively roll your eyes and turn your head to the side of the bar at and – Raven?

“Mama G!” Raven calls over to Abby with a wide grin from the entrance to the bar area. She quickly walks up as Abby turns in her stool to give her a warm embrace. It almost irks you how close the two have gotten, despite having met in person only twice. But, you know you should be happy that Raven’s been able to get some familial love for once, and not only that, but is basically guaranteed a job at NASA once she finishes up school next year thanks to Abby’s connections through Jake.

“Stopping in to see Clarke?”

Abby nods. “She was just telling me how busy she is all the time.”

They notably don’t do the ‘catch up’ thing, like asking about Raven’s knee and if it’s acted up since post-op recovery, or talking about NASA or how classes are.

Raven nods back. “It’s true. Girl could use a break. Hey!” She turns to you, realization lighting her face and speaking as if she’s reciting a line. “Since I’m here, I could cover you for an hour so you guys can spend some time together.”

Well, that explains them not catching up. It’s because they already have. Abby squeezes Raven’s shoulder with a practiced smile. “Raven, that would be so sweet of you.”

You narrow your eyes as you look between the two of them. They think they’re _so_ subtle. You look at Raven and tilt your head towards the end of the bar for her to meet you over there. She’s already flagged Wells down.

“Really, Raven? Going behind my back with my mom?” You whisper harshly as Wells approaches. She’s already clocked herself in and grabbed a clean bar towel for herself, with no room for negotiation.

“Wells, hey. Could Clarke and her mom snag one of your high-tops for dinner?”

Wells practically lights up at the mere idea. “Yeah, of course. I’d love to serve you two.” He leaves to grab waters and menus for one of the two-tops closer to the kitchen, on the other side of the divider between the bar and restaurant areas. Your glaring eyes haven’t left Raven this entire time. She finally drops the smiling charade and glares at you right back.

“Clarke.” Her jaw sets. “She’s your mom. She loves you. Stop taking her for granted and give her the time of day.”

Guilt settles in your stomach at her words, and you reluctantly untie your hair and clock out, walking around to the table Wells saved for you. Abby watches, drink in hand, until she realizes she’s supposed to follow and meets you there.

“Well I guess now I know why you asked if I’d eaten yet.” You grumble as she sits. You’re barely sat down when Wells sets another Dead Guy in front of you, which you never asked for, but certainly appreciate. You give him a grateful nod, to which he responds with a kind smile. There’s no need for you to look at the menu, for obvious reasons, so you tell Abby what you want and get up to excuse yourself to the bathroom, just for something to do.

Except you slide out of your tall chair, your back to the kitchen, and turn around to run right smack into Lexa.

And a giant bucket of marinara.

It’s a damn good thing you generally avoid wearing anything but black or navy to work, because there’s red streaked all down your left arm, on the edge of your tee sleeve, and even a few globs settled into the ends of your blonde hair.

“ _Shit,_ Clarke–“ Lexa hisses, the curse sounding foreign coming from her mouth as she immediately sets the bucket down. There’s none on the floor, even. Just on you. You’re standing there, tense, with teeth gritted, and you don’t even notice that Lexa left until she’s standing in front of you again with a couple wet bar rags. You snap out of it when you realize she has her hand hovering over your skin with one of the rags, with the intention of trying to wipe you off herself, but has stopped herself short before she can touch you. You let out a barely audible growl as you yank both towels from her, and she takes a step backwards with her hands raised slightly, giving you your space. She’s always _so_ concerned about giving you your space. A tense silence fills the area as you wipe your arm and ends of your hair, and dab into the fabric of your tee.

“I have an extra shirt in my locker that I can–“

“It’s _fine_ , Lexa.” You snap, now scrubbing at the dark blue of your shoulder. People will only see the stain once it dries if they’re looking for it. “You have shit to do. Sorry for wasting your marinara.”

Lexa snaps her jaw shut, and something like regret with a touch of resigned sorrow flashes over her features. You try to ignore the guilt you feel for snapping at her when you see that she's let those emotions stay played over her face. She nods once, curt, picks up the bucket, and resumes to her destination of the walk-in in downstairs storage.

You close your eyes and let out a deep exhale as you take a couple steps to the kitchen to toss the dirty rags into the hamper. When you walk back to your high-top with Abby, you notice the menus are gone, at which point you remember that the entire exchange between you and Lexa happened about three feet away. Which means both Abby and Wells witnessed it.

She’s giving you a raised, almost amused brow when you sit back down, which infuriates you.

“Some coworker tension there?” She tries to joke.

“ _Not_ your _god_ damn business, mom.” You bite back. It comes out much sharper than you really mean for it to. She recoils instantly, leaning back with pursed lips and wide eyes. Then her eyes get hard and she leans back in.

“Clarke.” She says, firm. “ _Enough._ ”

Why is _everyone_ on your ass lately? “Oh my god, _what?_ ”

“I don’t–“ Abby shakes her head in bewilderment. “I have no idea what’s going on with you.” She says, and you can tell she means both in this moment and just in general. “Do you treat your friends like this, too?”

 _No, of course not,_ you think. You look away with gritted teeth.

“So it’s just me, then.” She says flatly. You cross your arms petulantly, still avoiding eye contact. “Clarke.” She starts again, voice softer now. “I understand that you want to punish me. I even understand why.”

A humorless huff escapes you. She ignores it and continues with a deep breath.

“But it’s been three years, and frankly I’ve had enough.” She says, firmness back in her voice. The sting of angry tears begins to pool in your eyes, which you rapidly blink away. You ignore her statement and take several long gulps from your beer.

Her voice becomes softer again as she leans in, voice strained. “I promise however much you blame me for what happened to your father, I blame myself more. I shouldn’t have been texting work. I should’ve been more careful driving. I relive it every single day.”

You clench your fists, shaking your head, blinking furiously now.

“And I’m sorry for reacting the way I did when you told me you wanted to switch into art. I just…” She sighs, frustrated. “I thought it was a reaction. I didn’t want you to throw away years of hard work on a snap decision.”

“Three years sure is a long time to spend on a snap decision.” You bite dryly, an involuntary tremor in your voice.

“I know that now. I should’ve known it then. I should’ve trusted you, Clarke. I’m sorry.”

You sniffle, making brief eye-contact with Lexa as she walks past you again and back into the kitchen. You’re not sure what exactly you did to piss the universe off, but you’ve never felt so ill-equipped to handle so many complicated situations all at once.

Your lips start quivering. _Stop, stop, stop._

“Clarke…” Your mom soothes, immediately reaching over the table to stroke at your wrist. You pull your hand away and swiftly exit your seat to turn to go to the restroom – no Lexa to run into this time.

It’s a unisex single restroom. You leave the door unlocked. Your mom wordlessly enters right after you and you let her wrap you up in a firm embrace. After three years, you finally let yourself bury your wet cheeks into her shirt collar, shoulders shaking in silent sobs. You’re not even sure how long you’re there for, just crying into your mom’s arms, but it’s long enough that a heavy exhaustion weighs on you when you finally start taking even breaths.

“I know…” She soothes, stroking your hair. “I know, sweetheart, I know…”

“I’m so overwhelmed right now.” You hiccup. “Finn’s back, and the thing with Lexa, and, and you here, and–“ You pull away, wiping at your nose and under your eyes. A total mess. “And,”

“ _Hey!_ ” You hear someone rap on the door harshly from outside. “ _It’s been like ten minutes! I just need to piss!”_

“You can wait another minute!” Your mom calls back sharply.

You groan, wiping more aggressively at your face now. “This is so embarrassing. I work here.”

“They’ll live.” Your mom smiles at you, pulling a damp hair from your cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” You let her wet a piece of toilet paper and dab at your face, and run fingers through your hair. "Good as new."

You think you’ve been so busy taking care of other people that you’ve forgotten how nice it is to let someone take care of you for once.

You hide your face as you exit the bathroom, feeling kind of badly about the two people waiting to use it, but a little smile pulls at your lips when you see the guy that was presumably rapping impatiently at the door recoil at the stern look your mom sends him as she passes.

Two seconds after you sit back down, Wells sets each of your burgers on the table.

“They’ve been up for a couple minutes. I left them in the window to keep warm.” He explains, setting ketchup down and leaving with a kind and understanding smile, with no acknowledgement of your abrupt absence, or your red-rimmed and swollen eyes. You ache with gratitude and fondness for him.

You pick at your fries in silence before finally looking up to face your mom. “I don’t blame you.” You say quietly. “I think I always wanted to, but deep down I know shit just happens.”

She nods with a deep exhale. She sits, quiet, munching on her fries as well. “I’d like to buy you a plane ticket to Houston this Christmas.” She says finally, swallowing, then looking up at you tentatively.

“Okay.” You concede after several long moments, and it feels like something’s been lifted off of your shoulders.

“Okay.” She smiles back, her eyes watery again.

You let her ask about your life. You tell her about Finn, because she never even really knew about the first turn of drama with him, and about him coming back, and about how that’s affected your relationship with Raven. You mention Lexa and her tattoos, and tell her about the Carl Sagan tattoo, and you don’t even need to explain the truth of it for her to know the real reason you want it. You tell her you’re sorry.

“It’s okay, Clarke.” She says. And that’s all either of you need. Wells comes by to pick up your empty plates, and brings you another beer. You ask him to bring your mom a vodka mule in lieu of her still mostly full Dead Guy – she’d like it. You’ll drink the beer. At least an hour has passed since Raven took over your shift, yet no one has said anything.

“So,” Your mom starts, nodding pointedly to the kitchen behind you. “You still haven’t told me what that’s about.” She raises a playful brow, and it feels so normal and mom-like, and you’ve honestly missed it. You haven’t talked about Lexa yet because, well, she’s basically _right_ behind you.

“Well, Lexa’s the new kitchen manager.” You start in a more hushed voice, with a long exhale. “And she’s pretty, and smart, and, like, _good._ And I think I completely messed everything up, and now we’re not talking.”

Your mom hums in understanding, leaning on her elbows to study you, matching your hushed tone. “Does she like you back?”

You nod hesitantly, then slowly it turns into you shaking your head. “I don’t know anymore.”

She shrugs. “You could always ask.”

You roll your eyes. “Why does everyone keep telling me it’s that simple? It’s way more nuanced than that.”

She shrugs again. “Or maybe it’s not.”

 _Or maybe it is._ You worry once again after you’ve clocked back in – not before giving Raven a grateful hug and a thank you – and then 10:30 and regular kitchen closing hour has arrived.

“Hey.” You grasp Lexa’s elbow as she turns from the computer, having clocked out, then immediately release it when you feel how tense she becomes as soon as you touch her. You’re off shift, sitting at the bar with one Dead Guy and a buzzed Raven before you’ll drive the two of you home. Lexa looks at you expectantly, and you can still see traces of that resigned sadness that she let you see earlier.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. It’s just been a weird day. My mom surprise-visited me at work and I was kind of on-edge for a minute there.” You chuckle, shaking your head.

She nods silently, her features softening just slightly.

“Do you…” You swallow when she shows no indication of responding. “Want to stay and hang out with me over a shifter?”

Studying Lexa and the way her reactions play over her face has become something of a fixation for you lately. Everything is so subtle – a twitch at the corner of her lips, a restrained furrow of her brow, barely perceptible. You wonder if anyone has taken the time to look for those little nuances the way that you have. She blinks a few times, looking away. You’ve learned that this is an indication of an inner conflict.

“I have to open early, so I really shouldn’t.” Your stomach drops. Maybe you should stop trying. But then, “Maybe…” She licks her lips, blinking again before looking back up at you. “Maybe another time?”

A spark of hope ignites in your chest, and you can’t stop yourself from letting it spread into a comforting warmth through your lungs as you release a breath you didn’t really know you were holding. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “I’d like that. Just let me know.”

A twitch at the corner of her lips. “Okay. Goodnight, Clarke.”

“Goodnight, Lexa.” You smile back softly.

Raven punches your arm and teases you after Lexa leaves the bar.

‘Some other time’ ends up being a kind of far-away concept, since she opens kitchen the next day, and you’re on Saturday dinner and night bar until 2AM. There’s no overlap, and no chance to hang out. Lexa still stays for her shifter that day, but given it’s a Saturday, and it’s busy, there’s really no room to chat with her while you’re responsible for making drinks for the servers and tending to the people at the bar. She seems content with her book and her whiskey anyway.

You feel at ease, though. And that lifts a lot of the tension you had felt around her lately.

Raven’s scheduled to close with you, and when there’s a dead few minutes around midnight, inspiration strikes you. You figure you’ve talked all kinds of shit out with all kinds of people this week, what’s one more thing off the list?

“Can you give me Finn’s number again?”

 

_hey it’s Clarke_

 

The message comes less than two minutes later.

 

_I know :p What’s up?_

_what are you doing tomorrow?_

 

You invite him to the Sunday open studio brunch at Cadmium Red. One of the first things you connected with him over was art – he was always more sculpture and metalwork oriented, having grown up around mechanics and scrap metal all his life. Which you realize is probably where Raven gets her propensity for mechanical engineering and tinkering from. He was one of the only people you trusted and opened up to about your art, at a time when you still felt like you weren’t allowed to pursue it.

Things are different now, obviously.

“Hey,” He breathes, a visible puff leaving his mouth into the cold, damp morning air as you shut the door to your car, sketchbook and pad in hand. He’s brought a toolbox, which you know will be full of scrap wire, metal, maybe random pieces of circuit board. His style was always about recycling the old into something new and beautiful.

“Hey.” You breathe back with a smile, and you’re surprised by how easily it comes to you.

The small talk and joking banter lasts for a while after you sit down at a table with him. Many people have brought easels, impressively messy palletes, even a throwing wheel. The floor is lined with plastic, so it must not be that unusual. Gustus asks what you each want for brunch with a smile, and you can tell he’s giving Finn a side-eye when he later brings you each a mimosa, to which you immediately respond with an adamant shake of your head, which you hope communicates _just friends._ His smile seems more genuine afterwards.

You’re nearly finished with the bare charcoal lines of your piece when Finn finally adopts an almost serious tone, which is really an impressive accomplishment for him.

“Honestly I was ready for you to never speak to me again.” He chuckles softly, a sad smile at his lips as he deftly and precisely wraps wire around a few scraps of metal.

“Honestly, I was too.” You admit. He nods in resignation. “But I’ve learned a lot this week.”

“Yeah, I’ve learned a lot this year.” He sighs with a grim smile, punctuated by the sound of him cutting a piece of wire. You let the silence fill the space, surprisingly comfortably, as you begin to give depth to the figures in your piece with shading and color. It’s an editorial accompaniment, nothing unusual, or particularly exciting. Each of your brunches finally arrive in to-go boxes, and you take little breaks in between working on your pieces to munch on them.

“I’m sorry, Clarke.” Finn finally breaks the quiet, setting down his in-progress construction of scraps. “For everything. I’m sorry for not being honest with you.”

You shake your head, setting down your prismacolors. “I wasn’t honest either.”

He furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

_I’m in love with you._

_You broke my heart._

“With Raven.” You finally breathe. “Or with anyone. Some of how that all played out was on me, too.”

He nods in understanding before continuing. “I didn’t really get anything. Raven and I had been together for so long that…” He shrugs, sighing. “I don’t know. I didn’t know how to let go of her completely, but then you came along, and it all happened so fast…” He stops himself short.

“I know.” You say, looking back down at your piece in hopes of redirecting where you think the conversation might be going. “I know what you’re trying to say. We got caught up in a complicated situation and didn’t know how to handle it without hurting anyone.”

He exhales. “Yeah.”

“But hey.” You say, injecting some lightness into your voice. “That’s in the past now. And,” You smirk devilishly. “You may be 86’ed from The Library forever for breaking a dude’s nose,” Finn scoffs at you, but you can see the little hint of a smile. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t hang out.”

“There are, in fact, other bars in this city.” He plays along with your banter.

“I know, it’s hard to believe, right? It’s almost as if we’re in one, like, right now.”

“And believe it or not,” He leans in to whisper to you conspiratorially, eyeing the room in mock secrecy. “We could even hang out _outside_ of a bar. Like, we could go to the zoo. Or crash a wedding. Or put a _giant_ box of condoms in Octavia’s purse, and intentionally tip it over and let it spill out where we know Bellamy will see it.”

You laugh out loud at that, and the image of Bellamy’s face it conjures in your mind. This is what made Finn so easy to be around in the first place, and what made him so easy to fall for. He made you feel lighthearted. It’s not enough now, you know that. Hopefully he does too. But you’re broken out of these thoughts when you see a familiar form open the door to the bar and step in.

Your breath catches, and you freeze, prismacolor in hand.

Finn notices. “What?” He says, following your line of sight to Lexa in the doorway. Lexa, who decided to come to open studio brunch after telling you she wouldn’t. Lexa, looking elegant as ever in her long black jacket and red scarf, hair slightly damp but still tumbling down her shoulders in silky waves. She runs a hand through them, and you can’t help but stare at the way her smooth jaw and neck become exposed when she tosses her hair over one shoulder.

You hear Finn snicker beside you.

“Shut up.” You mumble, then lean closer to whisper to him, almost panicked, but never taking your eyes off of Lexa. “I didn’t think she was gonna come.”

“You mean I wasn’t your first choice for Arts and Crafts Brunch?” He says, clutching his chest in mock hurt.

You ignore him, because Lexa’s scanning eyes have finally found you – she was looking for you – but then she looks between you and Finn, and you can see the way she physically stops herself from her first instinct of walking towards you. She stiffly turns to face the bar instead, sliding her jacket and scarf off and settling at a stool near the end. She pulls a new book out of her bag as Gus wordlessly sets a glass of whiskey in front of her.

Finn breaks the silence once more. “So…are you gonna go talk to her or what?”

As if punctuating the point, Lexa sneaks a glance at you, maybe hoping you’d stopped looking, then quickly averts her eyes back to her book.

“This is honestly painful to watch.” Finn quips again, and you can almost see the grimace and eyeroll. “What’s the deal with you two, anyway? Are you a thing, or what?”

You’ve explained the situation with Lexa so many times in the last week you feel like you should wear a FAQ sign. You scrunch your nose, finally turning to face him, prismacolor still comically in the same position in your hand as two minutes ago when Lexa first walked in. “Is this weird to talk about with you?”

He shrugs. “Only if you feel like it is.”

You bite your lip for several moments before you speak. “This thing with her...it happened fast. _Really_ fast. So I kind of freaked out and pushed her away and I’m not sure she wants that now.”

Finn looks down, nodding in understanding. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “Remember how I said I should’ve fought for you?” He says, looking back up with an uncharacteristically meek expression. You tense at the potential reasons he may be asking you this, which he immediately notices with widening eyes. “No, no, Clarke.” He shakes his head, setting down his half-finished piece and subtly waving his hands. “I’m not – that’s not why I'm bringing that up. I know it’s – that’s over.”

You relax slightly as he continues.

“When things got,” He gestures to Lexa, then at you. “’Complicated,’ I was so stuck being unsure, about everything with you and with Raven. I was scared to make any kind of decision, because I didn’t want to mess something up. And instead,” He chuckles humorlessly. “Instead _everything_ got messed up. And honestly I wish I’d just been brave and gone for it.”

You look back over at Lexa, and Finn’s words in combination with the image of quiet regality she projects, just sitting there reading a book, strike something in your chest that ignites into this restless, burning feeling. It makes you feel like you’re bursting at the seams. An itch of inspiration nags at you. Finn must see something in your expression, because he sighs and starts packing up his tools and materials into his box. When you turn to give him a questioning look, he just gives you a small smile, almost wistful, as he stands up with his things and runs a hand through his floppy hair.

“Be brave, Clarke.”

Finn pays Gus and quietly leaves with a wave, and all you’re left with is that burning feeling. Lexa glances over at you as soon as Finn is out the door, as if she hadn’t been tracking the movement out of the corner of her eyes the entire time.

An idea suddenly strikes you, and you let that itch of inspiration take over. You quickly set your illustration piece down and cover it, careful not to smudge it. The assignment can wait; you can finish it tonight or tomorrow morning or something. Instead, you pull out your midtone sketchbook and ready your black and white charcoal.

You’ve drawn no shortage of live models in your time as an art major. It must be some kind of testament either to how entranced you are by her or how beautiful she just fucking is, because everything about the simple way she’s sitting at the bar excites the artist in you. Probably both. Your hand flies over the page in expressive but controlled strokes. You commit every detail: from the plush pout of her lips, to the way her lashes fan out as they scan the page. The tension of her fingers as she presses the book down on the bar, or the smooth lines of her neck and the swirling curves of her long hair spilling through the hand she’s leaning her head against. Even the glass of whiskey.

She’s an artist’s dream.

You’re finished with the basic lines and values, and busy yourself with deepening your darks and brightening your highlights as a plan forms in your mind. Your heart thrums in your chest as you imagine her either making her way over to your table to ask about what you’re working on, or you walking over once you feel like it’s finished to show her. Either way, in both scenarios you ask her to speak with you outside so you can breathlessly spill everything, and the grand gesture and speech you plan begins to put itself together.

Except you were lost in your thoughts for too long, and distracted with drawing, and didn’t notice that her whiskey is now empty and she’s put on her coat and started packing up her things.

_Shit._

You freeze up, because this isn’t how this was supposed to go. Maybe she got the wrong idea about you and Finn? You just thought for sure since he pretty pointedly left once she got here that she wouldn’t have thought that. Is she really going to leave without saying anything to you? Maybe she has somewhere to be.

 _Do_ something, Griff _,_ she’s _leaving_.

Except you just sit there, and all you can do is give her a weak smile as she waves goodbye to you with her own soft smile. And then you remember she has no idea what’s going on in your head, and as far as she knows, you’re trying to be friends. This is her giving you space. Again.

“ _Fuck._ ” You whisper, because she’s gone. The sound of the closing door snaps you out of it, and you immediately scramble to get your things together to try and run after her. Except you have a half-finished charcoal illustration piece that you _really_ can’t afford to smudge and have to do over, not to mention the one of Lexa, and you haven’t gone outside to spray a workable fixative on either yet. Plus you haven’t paid. And there’s a full mimosa sitting next to you that you feel bad wasting.

(You tell yourself you don’t go after her because of these things, and not because the idea of dramatically dropping everything and running out after her like some fucking 90’s rom-com is completely terrifying.)

 _So much for being brave,_ you think, when enough time has passed that there’s no way you would have caught her.

Gustus abruptly appears in the seat next to you. “You wanted to run after her.”

You startle slightly at his sudden presence, then groan, slumping in your chair. “Yeah.”

“May I?” He asks, gesturing to the charcoal pad and your sketchbook. You nod, and he flips open to the illustration piece, nodding appreciatively. “You control charcoal very well. Your lines are confident but still smooth. The shading isn’t muddy.”

“Thanks.” You say, chest warming at the compliment, then your heart starts thrumming against it when he picks up your sketchbook. It’s still open to the drawing of Lexa, face-down on the table.

You try to read his expression as his eyes scan the page, and maybe Lexa gets this habit from him, but his face is impassive. The silence stretches, and your heart is pounding, and that burning in your chest is threatening to burst, and all you want is for Lexa to be the one to see it happen.

“I need to pay you. I…” You swallow. “I need to go find her and talk to her.”

“Yes, you need to talk to her.” He sets the sketchbook down as you rustle through your bag to find the fixative spray, and your wallet. “But you won’t be paying.”

You look up at him to protest, but he cuts you off.

“With your permission, I’d like to display this piece.” He says, pointing to the sketchbook.

You blink. “Gus, wow. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. You drew this in twenty minutes, and it’s exceptional. I only allow exceptional work on my wall.”

You smile at him, and the hint of his own playful smile pulls at the corners of his lips, almost hidden by his beard. “Okay.” You nod. “But you can’t have it yet. I need it for something first.”

“I assumed as much.” The playful smile spreads wider as you continue packing your things, your hands practically trembling in anticipation.

You ignore Octavia and Lincoln’s questioning faces as you rush into the apartment to drop off most of your things and freshen up your appearance, as well as Bellamy’s interrogation when you go into The Library and beeline straight for Kane’s office without saying a word to him other than telling him you need a shot of Jameson. You have to do this now, before you lose your nerve. They can hear about whatever happens later.

You don’t let yourself think before knocking sharply, the frenzied thoughts and feelings driving you up until this point coming to a sudden halt as you stand in front of Lexa’s door. Suddenly you feel silly for breathing so raggedly, and your heart rate picks up even more. What if she’s not even here? You shouldn’t have assumed.

It feels like an eternity, and you consider literally running away at least twice before you finally hear the click of the door handle turning.

“Clarke?” Lexa opens the door to you, and you relish in watching the different expressions play across her features. There’s mostly surprise, some confusion in the furrow of her brow, but the slight raise of it indicates what you think might be hopefulness. There’s also fear there. You understand that.

“Hey.” You exhale.

“What – how do you know where I live?”

You swallow as you try to slow your frantic breathing. “I super unethically accessed your work file for your address. Sorry.”

“This is,” She shakes her head with a confused frown. “What are you doing here, Clarke?”

Every part of the grand monologue you had planned dissipates in your mouth as you stand there, speechless.

“Gus chose one of my pieces for the wall.” You finally blurt. You nearly grimace. Nice start, Griff.

“Oh.” Lexa says, startled. “Congratulations. I’m glad your hard work today paid off.”

“This one only took me about twenty minutes.” You say, feeling your smooth charm falling back into place. You can do this. You push your midtone sketchbook into her hands, pointing out the loose paper marking which page you want her to open it to. “The twenty minutes you were sitting at the bar reading.”

By now she’s opened your sketchbook to the drawing in question, eyes scanning over the bold lines of the work. Her mouth is parted and eyes wide when she looks back up at you in utter awe, like she can’t believe you’re real.

“Drawing from life is tricky.” You say with a casual chuckle, belying your nervousness. “Especially human subjects. It’s hard to really capture someone’s essence, but I’m pretty proud of this one. This subject has a really specific presence. Kind of quiet, but strong and self-assured. The implication of oceans of depth. An undeniable magnetism. Really, really beautiful. I must’ve captured at least some of that, for Gus to have chosen it for the wall.” You swallow again. “What do you think? Do you think I did her justice?”

“Clarke…” Lexa starts, voice barely above a whisper.

“Ten days.” You drop the running charade, locking her eyes with yours. Your heart is hammering in your chest. “It’s been ten days since I met you. And maybe I’m totally crazy, but…” You breathe deep. _Be brave, Clarke_. “I’m falling for you.” _Oh god I said it._ “And I don’t want to be scared anymore.” _And I don’t want you to be either._ “And,” Your voice cracks, and you can feel a sting behind your eyes, which you forcefully blink away. “I know I fucked up in the beginning, and if I hurt you, I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

“It’s…” Lexa croaks, voice thick. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I am, though.” You shake your head, insistent. “I should be. There’s…” _Be brave, Clarke._ “There’s a part of me that feels like I’ve known you forever. Does that make sense? And I was thinking about it today,” You swallow, almost trembling as you take a step closer to her. “And I don’t for one second believe in love at first sight. But,” Lexa’s eyes are glistening, now. “I do have this running theory that you can just _get_ someone, instantly, and the more time you spend with them and more you learn just confirms everything you thought in the beginning, that you were right all along to want to throw yourself in headfirst.” You reach forward with a shaky hand to take the sketchbook from hers, close it, and set it on the small table next to the door. You take another small step closer to her, beginning to close the gap.

“And the last week and a half has been…a roller coaster, to say the least.”

Lexa lets out a huff with a small twitch at the corners of her lips, which turns into an almost inaudible sniffle.

“And…” You search her eyes as your fingers blindly reach for her hand. “I don’t…” Words are failing you, and your eyes keep flickering all around her face, and she’s set you with this watery, unwavering stare, and all you can think to do at this point is bridge that gap between you.

When you step forward to press your lips against hers, it’s not like the other times. You’re certain, and firm, and reassuring, and her lips are the ones trembling against yours, butterfly soft against your mouth. Ebbing back and forwards as if she’s not sure if this is what’s supposed to happen, and she’s just following your lead. And then you pull back, and open your eyes to look at her, and a single tear – the first tear she’s allowed in the time you’ve known her – falls along her cheek. Her lips are still trembling, and for the first time you see everything that plays across her face as her glistening eyes search your face, mouth parted.

Astonishment, relief, but more than anything: fear. And you remember – if all you are is rage and confusion beneath the surface, you now know that all Lexa is is fear and a deep loneliness.

You don’t want her to feel that anymore.

So you press forward again, even firmer, even surer. And she melts, soft and pliant beneath your lips and your fingertips, stroking at the nape of her neck. And then suddenly she seems to realize what’s happening, and she finally grips at you, as if she understands she’s allowed to touch you, surging towards you to deepen the kiss and pull you closer in any way she can.

You can feel her trembling, and you want to ease that – she deals with this situation differently than you do. Rather than belying your nerves and being falsely confident and aggressive, she simply trembles, desperate, both holding on to you like if she holds too hard you’ll disappear, but if she doesn’t hold tight enough you’ll disappear too.

You step into her apartment then, gently nudging the door closed behind you with your heel, and the sound seems to snap some kind of awareness into Lexa, because she pulls away from you, lips parted and breathing heavily.

You rest your forehead to hers reassuringly, keeping her close to you as you trace your fingertips over her temple and into her hair. You press feather light kisses along the corner of her mouth, trailing into the curve of her jaw and over the crook of her shoulder, until you rest there, your hands curled over her shoulder and around her waist, just holding her. She’s still trembling, just slightly, in her breathing.

“I felt like I was going insane.”

You hum in response, moving to press a chaste kiss to her collarbone as she continues.

“Everything in me kept screaming to be careful, but I couldn’t stop myself from letting you see me in a way that no one has in years.”

“I know.” You soothe, burying your fingertips into her shoulders and squeezing her closer to you. “I know.” You say again, pressing into the quivering muscles of her back as you trail your hands down, because you know exactly what she means. And you just stand there with her, for what feels like ages, eyes closed and breathing in that vanilla wood floral scent, until finally you rub the tension out of the muscles in her back, and she stops trembling against you.

“You can ask Gus,” You finally break the silence, pulling back to look at her. Her eyes are still watery, but she doesn’t look scared anymore. She’s looking at you like _that_ , but this time it’s warm and unguarded. “I practically sprinted out of there. I almost followed you as soon as you walked out, but I figured if I’m gonna have my 90’s rom-com moment, I could give you the courtesy of having it in the privacy of your apartment instead of on the city streets.”

She smiles then, full and toothy and crinkling at the corners of her eyes and at her little nose. You know how in trouble you really are because just the sight of her _smiling_ is enough to send a rush of butterflies through your abdomen.

“You didn’t want to have a classic in-the-rain love confession?”

Your stomach flips again. _Love._

“Shit, it _was_ raining, wasn’t it? I totally fucked up. That was the way to go.”

“Mmm.” She hums, pulling you closer by the hem of your sweater. “But not quite as practical. I like this better.” She whispers against the corner of your mouth, trailing her warm hands over the smooth of your back.

You shiver at the touch as she leans back in to press a light kiss against your lips, tingling at the sensation.

You could definitely get used to it.

“What are you doing tonight?” You finally ask, pulling away to look at her, to which she responds with an amused quirk of her eyebrow. “Nothing exciting.” You chuckle. “I just really have to finish a piece for school up in my studio space. Do you want to come and just…hang out?”

That soft little smile that hasn’t really left her face this entire time spreads just a little wider, and you watch as she runs her gaze over your features, darting between your eyes, pausing at your lips, up into your hair as she brushes a strand from your forehead.

“I’d like that.”

She brings the book she had been reading at the bar, which you notice with a rush of warm affection as she’s sitting in your passenger seat during the drive over is Contact. She remembered. Of course she did.

“I’ll take you on a real date soon.” You promise her playfully as you pull the piece out and onto your easel. “In fact, I plan to take you on many.” You say quieter as you lean in for a gentle kiss, feeling her soft smile against your lips.

She settles quietly into the little armchair you keep in your studio space, as you settle at your stool and easel, preparing your materials. Hours tick by while you work in silence, occasionally glancing over at her, sometimes catching her watching you with an almost bashful smile, and sometimes she’ll catch you watching her and snap her eyes up to yours with a little smirk, hidden behind the sleeve of the arm she’s leaning her chin against.

And you think, heart beating hard and sure against your chest, about all those sayings about love, and about how it feels like coming home. You let those thoughts wash over you, even though _god_  are they terrifying, but something about Lexa is steadying. Home is supposed to feel safe, and warm, and inevitable, and the quiet comfort in working on your art while she’s just _there_ fills your heart with this feeling of home that makes you feel like you’ve been knocked off your feet and like you’re completely grounded at the same time.

It’s been ten days, and, god. You love her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoboy. Sorry for the absurd wait, y'all. #1: I just moved, like, out of the country. So the last month has been crazy and I've had like no time to actually sit down and write. But hey here's like 12000 words. #2: I spent awhile kind of wrestling with this chapter because I wanted it to be the last one and yet! Here we are. One chapter to go. My initial thought was Clarke comin in all 90's love confession-y and going straight into disgusting, emotional smut, but I kind of just decided that that's not really their style. 
> 
> Like, I firmly believe the canon Clexa sex scene came about the way it did purely out of necessity, because of their lack of time. That was all they had. Stakes are a lot lower here, and Clexa are just.......soft. Like they're so fkn soft and respectful and careful with each other it's honestly even more disgusting. Like I fully believe their dynamic with each other if they could just be themselves, no war or bullshit, would be soft and low-key and understanding and just...home. Which is what real, true, lasting love is really like. And then I just kind of came to terms with the fact that I'd need another chapter, purely because so much of this fic has been about Clarke's friends and their perceptions of her and of Lexa, and that kind of needed to be explored and addressed more before I called it. Plus we need more bar scenes. This is a bar au fic after all.
> 
> Anyway, let me know what y'all think. I love discussing characterizations and modern headcanons. Still fingers crossed it's not melodramatic, but I definitely put Clarke through a loooot of emotionally complicated situations all at once.
> 
> Also I'm over at hedarey on tumblr. Hit me up.


	5. Part V

You finish your piece and drive Lexa back home later that night. You entertain the idea of inviting her to your place, but decide to leave the ball in her court – if she asked, you’d say with her in a heartbeat, but she doesn’t, and that’s okay. You want her to take however much time she needs or wants, because you want to do this right with her. Because she deserves that. She deserves everything good. Her expression never becomes guarded or impassive around you again, just gentle, warm eyes, and the word that keeps bouncing around your mind as you think about this is _honored_ because you know nobody else really gets to see this side of her.

You walk her to her door and kiss her goodnight with a fluttering heartbeat before going back home, and you really do try to hide the rosy grin on your face as you key back into your apartment, but it’s no use.

“Hey, guys.” You say, and it comes out _way_ too chipper, and Octavia, Lincoln, and Raven all immediately give you a raised brow from their seats in the living room, some twenty-minute comedy playing on Netflix. You sit next to Raven on the couch, sighing contentedly as you pull your legs to your chest, trying to hide that damn smile behind your knees. It doesn’t work.

They’re still staring at you. Octavia finally breaks the silence.

“You were in and out in a hurry today.”

You want to play coy about it, but the stupid smile spreads wider and gives you away before you can so much as say _just a little rushed is all._

“I know that face. You just had mind-blowing make-up sex with Lexa, didn’t you?” Raven smirks at you over her laptop. Your eyes widen.

“What? No, we didn’t – what? Don’t be crass.”

Raven snorts. “Don’t be–?“ She turns to Octavia and Lincoln with an incredulously amused expression. “Oh my god, she has it _so_ bad, you guys. They didn’t even bone and she looks like _that.”_

“I think it’s cute.” Octavia chirps with a self-satisfied lilt, cross-legged on the couch. Lincoln just chuckles.

Your cheeks redden, but you still can’t fight that grin. “Oh please, O, as if you weren’t gushing about Lincoln every second when you first started dating.”

“You guys are _dating?_ ” Raven cuts back in, brows raised at you.

You pause, furrowing your brows slightly, because…are you? You never actually talked about it with her. You immediately get your phone out to text her.

“You were?” You hear Lincoln whisper to Octavia in the background.

 

_so…are you my girlfriend?_

 

You fidget after you hit send, tightly grasping your phone.

“Yeah, baby. You had me crazy from the start.” Octavia whispers back affectionately, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Um, hello?” Raven waves her arms. “ _Dating?_ ”

“I don’t actually know.” You reply honestly, staring at your phone screen, waiting. The text comes after not even a full minute.

 

 _I_ _don’t know, am I your girlfriend?_

 

Your fingers move to text her back at lightning speed, heart beating firmly in your chest.

 

_I really want you to be_

 

Raven’s still staring at you expectantly. Lincoln’s lifted Octavia’s chin to press a sweet little kiss to her lips.

 

_Then I suppose I’m your girlfriend. :)_

 

Your smile spreads impossibly, uncontrollably wider.

 

_:)_

_:)_

 

“Gimme that.” Raven huffs, snatching your phone. You don’t even care, and just curl inwards, pulling your legs tighter to your chest, trying to quell the rush of warmth threatening to burst from your lungs. Lincoln and Octavia are exchanging murmured _I love you’_ s from across the room.

Raven rolls her eyes. “ _Three_ smiley faces in a row? Really?” She looks to Octavia and Lincoln, as if for support, only to find them all wrapped up in each other and giving one another dopey smiles, snuggling in together. She stares at all three of you in silence, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement, which she never gets. Finally, she huffs and turns up the volume on the TV.

“You’re all completely disgusting and can fuck off.”

You don’t comment on the way the corners of her lips pull as she tosses your phone back to you.

The next morning before your class, you drop by Cadmium Red long before it’s supposed to open, sliding a manila envelope with a certain sprayed and frame-ready drawing of Lexa under the door. You attach a sticky note that simply reads,

_Gus, thanks for letting me steal my piece back for a day. It worked wonders. :) – Clarke_

Later, during your Senior Studio crit, you can’t pay any attention or contribute to other students’ discussions because you keep texting Lexa. Your instructor notices, and pulls you aside after class, taking off her glasses and wearily rubbing the corners of her eyes. “Clarke.” The older woman sighs. “This isn’t high school, I’m not going to ask to take your phone, but can you please save the texting for the break or after class?”

You duck your head sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Her features soften, and she chuckles. “You’re always a hard worker, so I know it must be someone very special. I’ve never seen you smile so much.”

Your permanent smile widens as you laugh awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. I guess you could say that.”

Bellamy is working bar when you stride in to The Library, twenty minutes before Lexa’s shift is over.

“Isn’t Roan on bar tonight?” Bellamy asks, confused, moving to clock out from the computer.

“He is.” You say dismissively, completely bypassing him to head straight for the kitchen, where Lexa and Lincoln are both working. Lincoln looks up as you lean up against the doorframe to watch Lexa, then back down with a shake of his head and a knowing smile. You unabashedly admire the strong movement of her arms as she kneads dough, then wipes her furrowed brow with her forearm, straightening her apron, until she finally notices you standing there. The way she blushes and immediately looks away when she sees your appreciative gaze is _so_ fucking cute. She looks around, a little embarrassed, before meeting your eyes with the most adorably meek smile that just sends your stomach into an uncontrollable flutter of affection.

“Hey.” She says softly.

“Hey yourself.” You smile back, practically sauntering forward into her space until her face is inches from yours as you lean back against the prep table she’s at. “Can I kiss you?” You whisper. Generally you’re not big on public displays of affection, but something about Lexa makes you not care at all. She gives the tiniest nod, and you lean forward to press a lingering kiss to her warm lips. You revel in the far-off look in her eyes and the way they’re locked on your mouth when she opens them just a little too long after you’ve pulled away, her own lips parted slightly.

A fire ignites low in your abdomen, and you suddenly understand and sympathize with Lincoln and Octavia for their need to sneak off into dry storage to go make out.

“How was your crit?” She breaks the silence, finally looking back up into your eyes.

“Went well.” You shrug. “Everyone had good things to say about it. Some pretty girl kept distracting me with her texts all class, though.”

Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and you can tell she’s about to apologize, until she reads your teasing expression and adopts a wry little grin instead. “How inconsiderate of this pretty girl. She sounds awful.”

“Terrible, really.” You shake your head with a sigh. “I’ve thought about how she can make it up to me, though.” At this, she moves just slightly closer with a suggestive brow, and you try not to let your mind go _there_ , but it’s already way too late. Your breath hitches, and the already hot and cramped kitchen seems impossibly smaller.

“Oh?” She tilts her head. “And?”

You bite your lip. “Well, I was _going_ to say she should free up her schedule for a night out tomorrow, since I know she’s not working.”

“But?” She prompts.

“Just thinking about other options.” You feign innocently, then slowly, unsubtly lower your gaze and lift it again.

She shakes her head at you, revealing a hint of that toothy little smile. Still, you notice the slight darkening of her eyes and the way her cheeks flush a little warmer as she pushes off of the prep table to lean against the one opposite you, crossing her arms. “I’ll free up my night,” She nods, “And we can go from there.” She adds with just enough of a hint of implication, and a slight tilt of her head.

“Sounds perfect.” You lean in for another kiss, this time trailing your thumb teasingly above the hem of her jeans before pulling away with a lingering look, and turn to go back out to the bar.

Bellamy is gaping at you almost comically when you walk back over, looking torn between glaring at you and giving you an impressed raise of his eyebrows. You’d kind of forgotten that he was even there, honestly, and roll your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Bell shakes his head, waving a hand. “Did I miss something?”

You decide to be blasé about it, and shrug as you stride past him to sit at one of the stools to wait for Lexa. “Let’s just say I won’t try to correct you if you call her my girlfriend again.”

He looks stunned. “Clarke–“ He starts with a shake of his head. Except you’ve about had it with him, and you cut him off before he can start chastising you for…for _what_ even?

“ _What_ , Bellamy?”

“You’ve known her for–“

“Eleven days.” You cut him off, nodding emphatically like _I’m well fucking aware, and you can bet your ass the number of days it took to fall for her is the only reason we didn’t start dating a week ago._ You continue, “And you know what? I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

He looks ready to protest again, but you don’t let him get even half a word in. Everything you’ve been holding in for a week just comes rushing out with a startling force. “I haven’t told you what’s really been going on with her because you’ve been nothing but a complete _ass_ about her from the beginning. I’m sorry you feel like she’s stepping on your toes because she’s trying to keep this place afloat.” He huffs at you, shaking his head. “I’m sorry Jasper’s a shitty employee and she finally had to bear down and fire him. I’m sorry you can’t see how…how…” You start to stutter a little bit. “How fucking _amazing_ she is and how _worth_ getting to know she is, if you’d ever given her the _fucking_ chance.”

Your chest heaves at this point, somewhat at the thrill of giving Bellamy such an overdue and deserved ass-chewing. You simmer down a little before you keep going, “But I’m _not_ sorry for going after what I want, and I don’t want to hear another damn word about how you don’t approve, or how you know what’s best for me.”

He’s rendered appropriately silent now, opening and closing his mouth for several seconds, not knowing how to respond. Finally, you soften your _scary-Clarke_ demeanor.

“But like...you’re my best friend, Bell. I need you with me.” You plead, searching his eyes.

He sighs and looks away, in that Bellamy-gravelly way, appearing almost sad for a second – you wonder why, if it’s the same thing he might’ve felt when he realized Octavia had found a home and family in Lincoln. Then, something shifts in his expression, and in those moments watching his averted eyes, you think you see when everything really starts clicking into place. When he looks back up at you, he’s adopted a hint of that teasing expression that _god,_ you’ve missed these last two weeks. Not the gross teasing, but the warm, big-brother-best-friend rapport that you’ve built with him over years. This is the Bell you need.

You continue watching him and waiting for him to say something, until your eyes catch movement next to you. Lexa’s exiting the kitchen, pulling off her apron and untying her hair from its braid. She sets her apron at the space next to you on the bar and leans in close to whisper into your hair, ghosting a hand over your waist.

“I’ll be right back and then I can clock out. Tomato run.”

You watch her as she silently cashes out at the register, and after she’s gone you’re still watching the entrance to the restaurant. Bell finally speaks up then, the traces of hostility gone from his voice.

“Princess fell for the Commander, huh?”

Nicknames aside, you smile and nod silently, still watching the door.

“I’m sorry.” He says after a beat, and you feel like you could’ve gotten whiplash from how quickly you turn to him in surprise. He acknowledges your shocked eyes with a roll of his own.

“Could you repeat that?” You tease.

He rolls his eyes again so hard he looks like he could be having some kind of aneurysm.

“Don’t push it, Princess.”

You watch him chew on the inside of his lip before he finally sighs, “I’ll be better. I promise. I’m happy if you’re happy.”

“I am.” You assure him, nodding insistently. “Thank you, Bell.”

An almost tense silence passes between you two until he speaks again. “So what is it about her? I can’t…” He cuts himself short, as if debating whether he should say what he’s about to. He does anyway. “I can’t imagine anyone more different from Finn.”

“Trust me, I know.” You snort. “Lexa’s…” You trail off, shaking your head with a wistful exhale. _Strong. Mysterious. Whip-smart. So pretty it fucking hurts._ “I’ve never felt so connected to someone so quickly. It really freaked me out at first.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” He teases with a brow raise and a shake of his head. “Stressed-out-Clarke is truly a sight to behold. Take cover, everybody.”

You throw a coaster at him. “Shut up, asshole.”

He whips the coaster away easily, grinning, then comes around the side of the bar to place a warm hand on your shoulder and pull you into a side-hug. “Only your favorite asshole, though.”

You lean into the embrace. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

Lexa returns just as Roan comes in to take over for Bell, and you try to keep from staring but she didn’t go out wearing a rain jacket or anything so her heaving collarbones are glistening, strands of her hair are clinging to her neck, and she looks a little out of breath as she drops the bag of tomatoes off in the kitchen. You whip your head back around when you hear Bell snort, having noticed you practically drooling over her, and he gives you that teasing, knowing eyebrow raise again. You ignore him.

Lexa clocks out as he finishes, then sits at that stool next to you, and she just really has no right to look so damn _hot_ after a damn tomato run. It’s honestly unfair. She takes a settled breath and finally faces you, and she must notice the glint in your eyes because she cocks her head with a little quirk in her brow and the tiniest, most infuriating hint of a smirk at the corner of her lips. You respond in kind by explicitly raking your eyes over her form, her bare arms, the action of her throwing her dripping hair over one shoulder, before punctuating it with your own eyebrow raise as if to say _you know exactly what you’re doing._

Yeah, you _really_ understand why Octavia and Lincoln had to sneak into dry storage now.

The electric spell is broken by a loud sigh from Bellamy, and you startle slightly because he takes a seat at the bar, but not next to you. Next to Lexa. Lexa herself adopts her guarded expression and quickly straightens, but not before sending you a subtle, almost alarmed look.

Bellamy beckons Roan over with a wave of his hand. “So let’s see. Three staff shots for sure,” Bellamy gestures to all three of you then points at you, “a Dead Guy,” to Lexa, “double Bulleit, neat,” he squints at the rows of bottles sitting behind the bar, pressing a finger to his chin, “and a White Russian. I’m feeling very Jeff Bridges today.”

Roan sends an annoyed brow at you and Lexa – he and Bell have never really gotten along – then busies himself with making each of your drinks.

“How very cliché of you.” Lexa observes, crossing her arms at Bellamy, and you can tell he feels challenged. You know her well enough by now to recognize that that’s just her dry temperament.

“What, not a Coen Brothers fan?” Bell retorts over the sound of Roan setting three shot glasses on the wood of the bar. “C’mon Commander, everybody knows The Big Lebowski is one of the best movies ever made.”

Lexa ignores the nickname and scoffs as Roan fills each shot glass with Jameson, then slides one to each of you. “Please.” Lexa lifts hers. “Lebowski isn’t even the best _Coen_ Brothers film. Cheers.”

Bell raises a brow before taking his shot, then grunts through a wince, “Alright, so what’s the best Coen Brothers film, then?”

You’re not sure how Lexa’s use of the word ‘film’ instead of ‘movie’ makes her sound intelligent and cultured, while Bellamy’s use just makes him sound like a pretentious douche. You think it might be because Lexa isn’t the kind of person that scrapes up every surface bit of knowledge about something that comes up in a conversation to look impressive; you think she genuinely just knows that much more than most people about that many things.

It might also be because you like her, just a little.

“No Country for Old Men.” Lexa says, and suddenly it’s law. “Although, I’ve always been partial to the idea of a modern reinterpretation of The Odyssey.”

You watch the way Bell’s eyes light up, and the way his trademark Arrogant smirk transforms into his rarer, much more lovable Banter smirk as a result.

”So you _are_ a Coen fan.” Bell says as Roan sets the three drinks in front of each of you. He picks his up and languidly swishes the liquid around, leaning back in his stool slightly to eye Lexa. “I don’t know that I’d necessarily define the Great Depression as a modern era.”

“Actually, that’s a common misconception. Our current society is technically part of the Postmodern Era.” She challenges back without missing a beat.

Bell looks over at you now, his eyes twinkling with History Buff mirth as he takes a small sip. “We’re talking about O Brother Where Art Thou.” He explains.

You already knew what they were talking about, but you feign a ‘ _the George Clooney one?’_ and a mouthed ‘ _ohhhhh’_ realization anyway, to let him feel like he’s connecting only with Lexa over something he actually really enjoys talking about. You can tell he’s just _aching_ to tease her for being a nerd, and then bond with her over the fact that he’s one as well. You give him just the slightest raise of your brows as if to say, _see? Worth getting to know._

So unbelievably worth getting to know.

He subtly shakes his head at you with a smile before gesturing to Lexa. “She makes a fair case. I’m a little torn now.”

“I think we need some input from Clarke, then.” Lexa takes a sip from her Bulleit and swivels towards you, and you’re still so in the early stages of dating ( _dating!)_ that just her simply being closer than you’d realized makes your breath hitch.

“Oh, uh,” You stutter, straightening as you let yourself glance quickly at her lips. What were they talking about?

“Inside Llewyn Davis made her cry.” Bell supplies from behind Lexa, and you break your gaze with her to glare at him. “What? It’s true.” He defends, throwing his hands up a little.

You don’t expect Lexa to tease you about this when you turn back to her, because that’s not really Lexa, but the softness and utter _understanding_ you find in her expression when you meet her gaze again disarms you a little. A movie about loss, about artistic integrity, melancholy, about standing firm in your passion and identity even when the world kicks you down over and over again? Yeah, she gets it. She gets you. And Christ if it’s ridiculous that a stupid conversation about Coen Brothers movies should invoke that feeling of falling – that feeling that you’ve been having constantly with Lexa over the last eleven days – but it does.

The fear tries to paralyze you again, but you’re getting better at not letting it, and lean into the feeling instead.

“It’s true.” You shrug, subtly reaching your hand out to find hers.

“It’s a worthy choice.” She says, still watching you with that soft expression, as she brushes a thumb along your knuckles.

You tag along in Bell and Lexa’s continued conversation, which delves into topics from classic literature to the new Star Wars movies – Lexa admirably _destroys_ Bell’s insistence that Rey is unrealistically competent and therefore a Mary Sue within the narrative. You beam with pride, because the girl you’re dating is not only really fucking smart and cool and mysterious and interesting, but she’s a total _nerd_ and you’re living for it.

“Alright listen,” Raven suddenly and loudly appears, startling all of you as she hooks her arms around Bell and Lexa’s necks. “If anyone in Star Wars is a Mary Sue, it’s the freaking Millennium Falcon.”

You laugh when Lexa sends you that same alarmed look from earlier, as she subtly and unsuccessfully tries to squirm her way out of Raven’s grip.

“Everyone talking about it like it’s this piece of total crap but it’s also the fastest ship ever and _constantly_ crash landing?" She throws her hands up incredulously, as if she's genuinely offended by the idea, almost whacking both Bell and Lexa in the face as she does so. "Seriously, how is that thing still running?”

“Yeah, Raven,” Bell chuckles with a sarcastic eyebrow raise, “Tell us more about the science behind Star Wars spaceships.”

Raven’s about to respond, but Lexa beats her to it in her dry tone.

“You _are_ aware that you’re speaking to an Aerospace Engineering grad student, right?”

Bell snaps his jaw shut, looking amused, and Raven glances at Lexa in surprise before she cranes her neck to call over to you. “Hey Clarke, have I mentioned that I approve of your girlfriend? You should definitely keep her around.”

You chuckle, cheeks heating and heartbeat quickening a little because _girlfriend_. “That was the plan, but thanks for the blessing.”

“Damn right I’m qualified to talk about spaceships.” Raven growls, landing a friendly punch to Bell’s shoulder as she settles next to him at the bar. Soon, this turns into Octavia coming in to meet Lincoln and settling on your other side turns into Harper turns into Miller and Bryan, then Wells, until suddenly the bar is full and the only people even sitting at it are employees.

At some point, after another Jameson shot and another drink, and a few nibbles of fries courtesy of Monty, Raven shuffles over and leans in between you and Lexa, lit phone in hand.

“Finn and Jasper want to get in on this, can we move the party elsewhere?”

You groan. “This is a party now? We just had a drunk night, like, last _week._ ”

“I don’t understand the question.” Raven blinks at you with a mock-blank look. “C’mon, Griff. Live a little.”

“Jasper?” Octavia questions from your other side with a raised brow, not-so-subtly glancing at Lexa.

Lexa quickly cuts in with, “I don’t need to come if it’ll cause problems,” as if bowing out of social events because her presence might be unwanted were a casual, daily occurrence.

“No!” You and Raven protest simultaneously with unexpected force. You and Lexa both turn to Raven in surprise at her reaction.

She shrugs at both of you, mumbling behind her glass, “Jasper can be a damn adult and deal with it.”

“Where’d you have in mind, Raven?” Bellamy interjects.

“Finn said something about a cool bar on Capitol Hill?” She turns to face you after reading from her phone. “Said you introduced it to him yesterday.”

You brows shoot up further in surprise. “Oh!” You glance over to Lexa. “What do you think, is Cad Red a good place for a group of delinquents like us?” You say, wordlessly asking _is it okay for us all to go there?_ You don’t want to intrude on any spaces that Lexa wants to keep her own with your sometimes loud and rowdy friends.

She smiles at you, soft and appreciative. “Clarke, I’m sure Gus would be happy to see so many people in his bar on a Monday evening.“

You smile back. “Alright.” You direct your attention to everyone else again, “But it’s a little pricey. So don’t say I didn’t warn you when you have to pay ten dollars for a beer, okay?”

You stride into Cadmium Red with Lexa once your Lyfts drop you off, everyone else not far behind. Finn and Jasper are already at the bar near the back – you suspect Finn bought both of his and Jasper’s drinks, because that kid has to be broke as shit at this point. You glance to Jasper, wary of his forced smile, before turning to Gustus with an apologetic look.

“Heads up, the cavalry’s coming. I hope that’s okay.”

Gus lets out a deep chuckle as he’s yet again in the midst of polishing a wine glass. “Of course. Indulging in a complimentary drink?”

“Complimentary?” Finn cuts in with a wide grin. “You chose one of her pieces for the wall?” He cranes his neck, searching the bar. “Where is it?”

“Finn, wait–“ You start to protest, knowing everyone’s about to come in behind you, and you wanted to keep that whole thing on the down-low.

Bellamy appears next to you – too late. “Clarke has art in here?”

“Guys–“ You try again.

“She does,” Gus puffs his chest, “And being a selected artist means every drink is complimentary so long as it’s on the wall.”

You groan quietly as Raven appears on your other side with a teasing scoff and a gentle punch to the shoulder. “Jeez, what makes _you_ so damn special?”

“I think the work will speak for itself.” Gustus chuckles.

“What’s happening?”

Bell leans over to explain to Octavia, “Clarke has featured work on the wall somewhere in here that gets her free drinks.”

Lincoln nods at you over Octavia’s shoulder. “That’s awesome, Clarke.”

Your face is probably red by now, and you nod a timid smile in thanks back.

“Hey, uh, I can draw a mean stick figure.” Jasper cuts in with a lopsided grin. “How’re my chances?”

“Not good.” Gus says without hesitation, face completely straight.

Finn stifles a loud snort next to Jasper, giving him a pat on the shoulder. Even Lexa’s biting back a smile.

“Worth a shot.” Jasper shrugs good-naturedly.

“So?” Raven interrupts, directing everyone’s attention back to her, “Are you gonna tell us where it is, or what?”

You turn back to Gustus, who’s looking at you with mirthful eyes, clearly waiting for your approval. You try to mask the mixture of pride and embarrassment you’re feeling with a roll of your own eyes. “They’re gonna find it one way or another.”

He shifts his gaze to somewhere directly behind you as he nods. “I put it up this morning.”

Just about everyone gets up from the bar to go look at the piece, and something wells up in you when you spot the certain small, circular booth in the back corner that he’s hung it over – where Lexa first kissed you. You immediately look back at her with adoring eyes, while her hand has already wordlessly sought yours.

“Clarke, this is really good!” Finn calls back to you.

“Yeah, you really captured her.” Lincoln supplies, examining it with the eye of the practiced artist you know he is. Lexa shifts a little uncomfortably next to you at being scrutinized, even if in the form of a drawing.

“Thanks, guys.” You grin bashfully.

“This is some Titanic-level shit, Griff. Like you two are _genuinely_ gross.” Raven teases with a shake of her head, looking between you and Lexa as she walks back over with Octavia. Out of the corner of your eye you notice how stiff Lexa’s posture has become, and she’s doing that thing where she scratches at the side of her thumb, and it’s _so_ cute how awkward she is suddenly and you just can’t even help it. You lean in with an arm around her waist to nuzzle a kiss under her ear.

“Hear that babe? We’re gross.” You whisper, biting a smirk. Lexa visibly flushes at the term of endearment and looks at you like _that_. Then, she seems to remember people are watching, and clears her throat, pressing a hand to her cheeks to try and rid them of their blush. You feel kind of bad for embarrassing her but you’re also _living_ for her reaction.

“So like,” Raven calls over her shoulder to the rest of the group loudly as she stands at the bar next to you. “I don’t know when I got such a disgusting roommate, but I’m taking applications for her replacement, effective immediately.”

Octavia snickers. “Yeah, _babe_. I think you might officially out-gross Lincoln and I. Congrats.”

“Shut up, assholes.” You bump Raven’s shoulder with yours, Lexa still nuzzled into the other, but don’t even try to hide that permanent, rosy smile.

Bell and Jasper spend some time nerding out together over how wide and unique the liquor selection is, Wells spouts some unexpectedly in-depth knowledge about wine production, and Raven defends her obsession with Tequila, until finally everyone has an overpriced drink in their hand, and is seated around a few pushed-together tables in the middle of the bar.

And then it _finally_ starts to happen – somewhere in the middle of a game of bar dice you feel everyone start to ease, start to openly direct their body language towards Lexa. Bell and Raven even start to feel comfortable enough to direct their teasing not just to you, but her as well. And you start to see her open up in turn, watch the regal tension relieve a little out of her shoulders, witness the public reveal of that crinkle at her eyes when she’s smiling with her whole face, or the lightness of the sound of her laugh. And you hate to reduce the idea of complex, amazing, beautiful Lexa to the idea of a mere _prize,_ you really do. But when you’ve got your hand at her waist, or her forearm, or her shoulder, and you’re beaming proudly alongside her you feel like you’ve been awarded the Universe and she’s _there_ , sitting right next to you at a bar on Capitol Hill.

By the time everyone’s ready for another drink and therefore ready to go to a cheaper bar, you’ve decided you don’t want to share anymore. You’re allowed to be greedy from time to time.

Lexa seems to read your mind, and tugs your hand to keep you lingered behind everyone. You share a nod with her before calling to the departing group. “Have fun guys! I think Lexa and I are gonna hang back.”

Everyone else calls their farewells, and for a second Bellamy seems ready to protest until he looks between the two of you and good-naturedly rolls his eyes as he waves goodbye.

You decide to stay at Cad Red for a little longer at least – it’s hard to pass up free drinks. Another beer poured, and Gus is chatting with you about how Zooey Deschanel and Ben Gibbard came in from time to time back when they were still married, and helped put Cad Red on the map. By the time your glass is down to half-full he tells you that Lexa and Costia were coming in long before they turned twenty-one, that everyone knew it was just an unspoken thing that they were allowed to be served there.

“Such a rebel.” You tease-whisper to Lexa at the stool next to you, grazing a thumb over the side of her knee. She bites back a smile.

A few sips left and he’s telling you about a time when some very rich, very entitled asshat kept pestering Lexa at the bar. After politely but firmly asking to be left alone more than once, he’d sidled an arrogant hand around her waist, which she’d _immediately_ wrenched away, and twisted around until she had him in an rear wrist lock with his face pressed onto the bar.

The badass image of a snarling, commanding Lexa overpowering some pompous asshole floods your mind, and then you look over at the flush-faced, smiling woman next to you. It almost startles you just how many very different ways you can be attracted to one person.

“I still have the security footage from that night, you know.”

“Shush, Gustus.” Lexa shakes her head, cutely blushing.

“I’d pay to see that.” You tell him, very much serious.

Somewhere along the way, more people start to come in and Gus has to get back to serving them, leaving you alone with Lexa. The way the dim light leaves her face looking even softer than normal and her eyes dark and inviting is significantly more intoxicating than the comfortable buzz you’ve been building over the course of the evening. You pretend to listen – well, no, you _are_ listening because you want to know and hold every thought that comes from Lexa and pick it apart, watch her unravel everything she’ll let you see…

Sorry, what were you saying?

You rake a blatant look down at her lips again while she playfully argues with you about the logistics of realistic interstellar travel and habitation _listen, my dad worked for NASA, okay? I know what I’m talking about._ And you really would want to continue the banter and the conversation because she’s sharp and fascinating and so much more vivid than anyone you know, but she keeps doing this little smirk thing at the corner of her lips that leaves you distracted.

You’re already practically entwined with each other at the bar, anyway. It shouldn’t feel like that big of a leap when you barely lean forward to press a kiss to her lips, and yet your heart still skips a beat in your chest.

“I’m pretty lucky, you know.” You whisper when you pull away, but still so close that you feel the flutter of her eyelashes against your cheekbone.

“And why’s that?” She breathes, warm across your cheek, almost inaudible.

“Because I get to do that whenever I want.”

And then you pull away enough to really see her, and she’s giving you the _look,_ and there are so many different kinds of fires and aches burning in you at the sight.

“Clarke…” She starts, licking her lips, and you instantly snap out of whatever daze you were in because her tone is nervous, and she’s doing that thing where she blinks out of your gaze and her throat bobs– “Come home with me?”

If your gaze could get any softer, it would. You nod silently, offering her a small smile. “Yeah.”

Something your dad once told you when you were younger was that the biggest compliment you could give someone was that they were _refreshing._ And you think maybe there’s never been a more apt way to describe the way that Lexa makes you feel. Like you were making your way through the world just fine until suddenly she barrels in, so unlike anyone you know, caring so little about the things that don’t matter and caring so much about the things that do. Like a gust of fresh air. You love her lack of unnecessary pretense, her disregard for stupid norms, that she doesn’t give a fuck about being what she’s expected to be. You love her for her utter, honest sincerity, for that act of asking _come home with me_ and not necessarily meaning sex – although you’re certainly far from opposed to the idea – but an invitation to share herself with you.

You’ll take anything she’ll give you, honestly. Because you love her.

You each throw down a substantial tip for Gus once your drinks are empty, and you know you’re not drunk…you’re not drunk and yet you can’t seem to get close enough to her. She has you acting like a complete fool, nuzzling into her neck and daring to dart a tongue and nibble lightly over her pulse point while you’re in the back of a damn Lyft and you can’t even bring yourself to care. Especially when you can literally feel the hitch of her breath that this causes, right under your lips.

“Clarke.” She whispers, though there’s no conviction in her warning.

It’s dark when Lexa keys into her apartment, and you’re resting a chin on her shoulder as she does so, hand at her waist and breathing in that intoxicating vanilla wood floral scent that you’re scared you’ll never get enough of.

“Anya’s up north for a couple days.” She says, and you don’t even give her enough time to flip a light on before you’ve nudged the door closed behind you, and you’ve taken her wrist to turn her until her back is against it. You press yourself flush and steadying against her because the darkness and the little bit of alcohol and the heady feel of her breath mingling with yours is kind of dizzying.

“Clarke,” She breathes, almost distraught. And then a hand is pulling at the back of your neck, the other at the small of your back, and her open, breathless mouth slants over yours. You’re plummeting again, and you carelessly drop your purse, forgotten at your feet as she pulls your upper lip into her mouth. She arches her hips from the door, leaving your burning fingers free to roam the expanse of her lean back, and she’s running a hot tongue over yours, and – god.

You let out a whine into her mouth as she twists again, her lips and just the hint of teeth raking over yours, savoring you, and you’re basking in the way the feeling sets your nerve-endings on fire. It feels like a dance – every parting of lips like a flourish, twirling until she’s back in your arms, and you’ve caught her warm lips again.

Then you feel the slightest push against your bare collarbones – you don’t even remember taking your jacket off. You stagger backwards a little breathlessly, almost tripping as you slip out of your shoes until you get the hint, and let her lead you through the darkness of her apartment to what you assume is her room.

She doesn’t turn on the light, and the motion of her lowering you to the bed and straddling your hips is so swift and so graceful it almost leaves you questioning the reality of it all. Whatever light was filtering into the room from the street becomes obscured by the curtain of her dark hair, and then she’s kissing you again, rolling her body down into yours as you meet her eagerly. She’s breathing shallowly, and suddenly her open mouth is at your neck, a hand tracing under your shirt.

You lift your arms and arch upward as she pulls the hem of your shirt over your head, and then _god_ she’s trailing her hot mouth down, over your collarbones, between the valley of your breasts. _Fuck._

And – damn it. She’s thumbing at the button of your jeans, and…this is so unfair, you wanted. Tonight was supposed to be about – wait.

You get it.

Her breaths had been coming in short all along, and your thought initially was _damn, I haven’t even touched you yet tiger,_ but it starts to make sense when you feel the subtlest tremble of her fingers, and the shakiness of her breath on your abdomen.

So you push to sit up, and pull her head towards you, stilling her. Her eyes remain closed, and you trail a hand down, over her collarbones, until it rests over her chest. Your suspicions are confirmed when the action reveals a wildly erratic heartbeat.

She’s scared.

“Hey.” You whisper, drawing back slightly, but keeping your hand pressed there, gentle and reassuring. You lift the other to nestle at her jaw and trace over her cheek, and she lifts hers to grasp your wrists, as if anchoring herself. “Hey.” You repeat, just before closing the distance and brushing the lightest of kisses at the corner of her lips, then at her little nose, which elicits a tiny puff of a laugh against your chin. “Hey.” Softer, as you kiss her brow, then her temple, a fluttering eyelid, that delicious hollow between her regal cheekbones and her parted lips. You linger for a while, mouths millimeters apart, matching her breaths in an effort to calm her.

 _Slow down._ You say with your lips, drawing her into a long, sensual kiss.

 _You’re safe._ You say with your fingertips, tracing the curve of her jaw, her temple, feather light in your touches as you weave them into her wild hair.

 _Let me._ You finally say with your hands, lifting her and flipping her so she’s the one pressed against the bed. You do this the best you can, even if you’re sure Lexa would do the same with much more finesse. Then, as if that thought caused it, the weight on your hand awkwardly slips on the sheets and you jerk down, effectively head-butting her.

Nice.

“Sorry! Sorry.” You graze the point of contact with the pad of your thumb, but she’s just laughing about it, all crinkled nose and, well…you’re not that sorry anymore. You hover over her on your elbows, watching the way her toothy smile turns into something warm and soft and intimate – the _look._ You wonder if she has some similar description for the way you’re looking at her right now, because you’ve been looking at her like that a lot lately.

How could you not? You’re sure you’ll try and draw this image of her later, but you couldn’t possibly do it justice. Softly lit in a warm glow from a street lamp outside, chest heaving, tank disheveled, hair splayed out around her. Her lips parted, shadows cast across her cheekbones from her long lashes.

 _I love you_ threatens to spill from your lips, and you barely catch it before it comes out. “I…” You’re aching to say it. It’s real and it’s true and it’s _right_ and you want to tell her. The Clarke before your Dad died would’ve. Maybe even the Clarke of a year ago, before Finn. This Clarke is too cautious for that. Too pragmatic.

Lexa watches you, patiently waiting. Eventually you find your voice, “I’m going crazy, Lex.” You shake your head, ducking into the crook of her neck, sliding your hands under her shoulders. “I’m crazy about you.”

“Clarke.” She almost chides, and you can hear the smile in her voice as she soothes her fingers through your hair. She’s stopped trembling finally; maybe all she needed was to see your own fear. See that she wasn’t alone. Then, as if reading your thoughts, “You’re not the only one.”

You stay like that for a while, just resting on top of her, tracing your hands down her arms, along her ribs, breathing in unison as she combs her fingers through your hair. It’s when you brush along the bare skin of her hip, eliciting a shudder from the girl underneath you, that that comforting warmth you’re feeling quickly starts to burn a little hotter, a little more full of need. You suddenly become very aware of her bare skin, the heat of it under your hand, under your lips, the disheveled state of each of your clothes.

Lexa must feel the shift too, because gentle hands start to wander, and you breathe out warm against her jaw as her fingers roam over the bare skin of your back, pressing firmer as she lowers them to anchor at your hips, splayed across the curve of your rear.

“ _Lexa_.” You whine, breathless under her jaw before it becomes too much.

It's like she's reading your mind, because now you’re both sitting up, all open mouths and labored breaths. Your hands grip at the hem of her tank, mussing her hair as you pull it over her head, as she makes quick work of lifting you so she can slide your jeans down your legs. You fumble a little with her bra – yours is long gone, which you don’t remember happening, but any rational thought about that goes out the window when Lexa’s mouth closes around a nipple, rolling it hard and wet between her lips. You let out a broken moan, throwing your head back at the sensation, losing yourself to it for a moment before remembering how much you need her clothes gone, _now._

You’re trying and failing to unbutton her jeans, all fumbling fingers as you let out a sound that’s somewhere between a growl of frustration and a pleading whine. In your defense, Lexa is very busy sucking blooming pink marks over your breasts, up into your neck, which is making it incredibly difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Help me out, baby.” You finally concede, the low, breathy huskiness in your chuckle surprising even you. The effect is immediate, Lexa swiftly lifting herself to her knees to remove her jeans. You take the opportunity to graze your lips, your teeth, fingernails up her firm stomach, until you’re returning the favor, sucking a rosy nipple into your mouth as she tosses her jeans away.

The sound of a high-pitched gasp gets your attention, and that in combination with the image of Lexa above you, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as she bites a lip through heavy breaths, well. It’s an image that’s going to stay with you for a while.

You pull away to look at her when your fingertips stop at the fabric of her underwear. She wordlessly nods her consent, and you waste no time in pulling the black fabric down her legs, and then slipping out of your own underwear, until there’s nothing but flushed skin between both of you.

And then it’s all instinct. Your kiss turns feverish, almost clumsy, as reverent hands become raked nails, bruising fingers. You need _more,_ so you grip her waist, lowering her hips until you’re both gasping as she makes contact. She’s already _so_ wet, slick against your thigh as she grinds into you, rolling your hips to meet her as she starts a slow, intoxicating rhythm. You trail a hand down, fingers slipping through her folds under the guise of spreading her wetness to ease the movement – she inhales sharply as you do.

Really, you just needed to taste her.

Her hooded eyes fixate on your wet fingers as you slide them into your mouth, your lips closing around them through an appreciative moan, pulling them out with a _pop._ The sight has her instantly grinding harder, faster. You’re so mesmerized by the way everything plays over her face, through falsetto breaths, a shuddering jaw, that you only realize a hand has dipped down when long fingers are already sliding through you.

“Shit.” You hiss.

And then they’ve dipped inside of you and she curls them just _so._

 _“Fuck.”_ You groan into her neck, your slack jaw dragging teeth and swollen lips over her collarbones. You grip her shoulder, feeling the tension of her muscles as she starts a rhythm, in tandem with her own movements against your leg.

Unintelligible moans fill the room – you’re pretty sure they’re yours – and you feel your control quickly slipping away because she keeps finding _that_ spot, that spot that’s leaving you in tremors underneath her, and. She’s using her own thrusts as leverage, her palm pressing your clit over and over – God, you’re almost _angry_ because she’s building you up so quickly, so easily.

“ _Lex–“_ You cry, the sound undercut by a sharp gasp. “I’m-“

And then you’re tumbling, tensing around her as you ride it out, broken moan after broken moan leaving your mouth and trailing in a mess of lips and teeth raking over her shoulder and gasping into her neck. You only allow yourself a few moments to bask, though. When you open your eyes again, fighting through the haze of your orgasm, your focus is purely Lexa.

She’s still rocking against you, brows furrowed and eyes squeezed shut, and you lock your hands over her hips just as she grips your shoulders, rolling your body to meet her movements. Then, she opens her eyes, meeting yours, and the pure intimacy of it, of realizing she’s opening herself up for you to see…it leaves you breathless in a way you don’t even know how to describe. Your gazes are locked until her movements become erratic, and labored breaths turn into broken little cries, and then she tenses, throwing her head back and clamping down around you, her mouth dropping open in a silent cry.

You’re with her the whole time, easing her down until finally she goes slack against you.

She opens her eyes again when you move to rest a hand over her heart, feeling her breaths and her pulse as they begin to settle, and you just stay there with her, holding her, locked in each others’ gazes, for seconds, minutes, hours. You’re not sure.

“ _God,_ you’re beautiful.” You breathe, awed at this wild, sexy, vulnerable, beautiful creature above you.

She smiles, the purest incarnation of your favorite kind of Lexa – the soft, radiant Lexa – as she traces a hand over your temple and lowers her lips to yours for a lingering kiss before she whispers,

“So are you.”

* * *

“You’re taking her to a _museum?”_

You roll your eyes at the mirror as you run a hand through your hair, loose and flowing and lightly curled with help from Octavia.

“There’s an American art exhibit at the SAM right now. She’s gonna like it.” You say firmly, masking your uncertainty.

“I mean I guess, but it’s just so… _lame._ Like you’re gonna walk around in heels for hours listening to pretentious dicks trying to justify why a urinal sitting on a pedestal is art– _”_

“Duchamp was French, not American.” You cut in, irritated. “Are you _trying_ to make me nervous on my first official date with her?”

“ _Leave the old couple to their lame museums, Raven!”_ You hear a muffled Octavia call from her room.

“I’m just _saying_ , most people play it safe for their first date, you know, dinner. Drinks. Movie. Quickie in the back seat before you drive her home.”

Raven’s crudity aside, you realize it doesn’t really even feel like a first date. There won’t be any wading through pretense, no lying about yourself to impress the other. She already knows more about who you really are than friends that have known you for years.

“Lexa’s not most people.” You finally settle on saying, giving yourself one last look-over, smoothing out a wrinkle in your floral knee-length dress before flipping off the light and heading towards the door.

“ _Ignore her, Clarke, she’s just jealous she can’t get a hot date!”_

“Oh,” Raven huffs back indignantly as you pick up your keys and purse. “ _I_ can get a hot date.”

“ _Yeah?_ _When’s the last time you got laid?”_

“Hey y’know why don’t _you_ go through the mechanical engineering grad program and let me know when you have time for a relationship, huh?”

“ _I didn’t say anything about relationshiiiips!”_ She calls back in a sing-song voice.

“Listen bitch just because your boyfriend is a walking tree and you can get the D whenever you want doesn’t mean–“

You close the door behind you to spare being subject to any more incessant arguing.

Oh, who are you kidding? You love those losers.

* * *

You pull up to Lexa’s apartment, suddenly and inexplicably trembling with nerves. Flowers are so archaic and lame, why did you get flowers? You can’t do anything about it now, short of stuffing them into the back – _but what if we really do end up having a quickie in the back seat later–_

_Stop it._

You just saw her this morning. You woke up next to her. It was easy, and comfortable, and you’re over-thinking this.

You take a breath, picking up the flowers as you leave the car and walk to her door, hovering your fist for a moment before you knock. The door opens within seconds, making it endearingly clear she was waiting right next to it. You’d tease her about it, except your throat goes dry because you’re greeted by an elegantly sexy Lexa in a black v-neck dress, all long legs, smoky eyes, deep red lipstick, hair falling in waves over her right shoulder. I mean she’s just…

“…Goddamn.” You blurt, unthinking, possibly drooling. “I mean,” You chuckle, shaking your head. “Let me try that again.” You clear your throat, mock-curtsying with a flourish of your hand as your other presents the bouquet you brought for her. “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl.”

“Beautiful flowers _from_ a beautiful girl.” She corrects with an amused smile, accepting the bouquet. She lifts them to her nose and breathes them in with closed eyes for a few seconds before looking back up at you. “Thank you.” She says, all soft and reverent.

“Yeah.” You nod sincerely, stepping forward to press a light kiss to her lips, careful not to mess up her lipstick.

( _You can mess up her lipstick later._ )

“Really though.” You shake your head. “Octavia called you my ‘hot date’ earlier and I’d say that’s a pretty apt description. You look amazing.”

“I have a pretty hot date myself.” She smirks, stepping inside for a second to put the flowers in some water. When she comes back out there’s a hint of anxiousness in her expression. “I’m not over-dressed, am I?”

You shake your head again. “You’re perfect.”

She ducks her head, fighting a smile as you turn to walk with her to your car. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.” She raises a brow at you as she laces her fingers with yours, even if it’s just for the twenty-foot walk from her apartment to your car.

“What, you don’t like surprises?” You tease, opening the passenger door for her before walking around to the driver’s side.

She just raises another brow at you.

 _“Fine,_ I’ll tell you.” You roll your eyes dramatically as you start the car. “There’s an exhibit at the SAM that I thought you might be interested in, about 20 th century American art. It’s not the first night or anything, so it won’t be crowded with a bunch of snobs. I thought we could check it out, maybe go somewhere for a bite and a drink after.” You’re rambling. “How does that sound, is that–?”

You look over at her finally, and do a double-take, because she’s staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“Is that okay?” You ask, suddenly anxious. “Oh god, Raven was right, this is so _lame_. We can do something else if you want–”

“Clarke.” Lexa cuts you off, taking your right hand and weaving her fingers with yours. She’s shaking her head, watching the road and biting back an amused smile before turning back to you. “I was looking at tickets for that exhibit this morning. I was going to ask you sometime tonight if you wanted to go to it with me on Thursday.”

There’s a long pause as you process this, but the pure elation of the smile that spreads across your face is immediate, and you feel like you might burst from the inflated feeling in your chest. You let out an embarrassing giggle instead.

“ _Seriously?”_ You look over at her finally. She nods, and _god_ the smile she’s giving you… “I love you.”

You tense at first, because it just _slipped out_ , but you don’t find yourself trying to reel it back in. You’re relieved, actually. Because it’s the truth. You glance at her to gauge her reaction, and she’s giving you the _look._ You glance back a few seconds later, and she’s still doing it, so you give the tiniest shrug, like _yeah and what of it?_  as if your heart isn’t _pounding_ in your chest right now. You don’t expect her to say it back. But she squeezes your hand, tracing patterns over your knuckles, and that’s enough. The rest will come with time.

Bringing her to the exhibit ends up being everything you’d hoped. You talk about the artwork and it’s easy, engaging, stimulating, challenging. You talk about anything else. You feel like you could never run out of things to talk about with her, and even if you did, you like the comforting warmth of her silent presence just as much.

You excuse yourself to the restroom somewhere in Abstract Expressionism and halfway through wine glass number two. You can’t help but text Raven on the way.

 

_hey remember how you said this was a lame first date idea_

_Oh no, is it actually bad? I was seriously kidding:(_

_noooo haha…raven, she almost bought tickets for the same thing. the same exhibit. she wanted to take me this thursday_

_also_

_i may have told her i love her ? :|_

_Okay number one: Are you fucking serious she seriously almost bought the same tickets. You guys are even more revolting than I ever could’ve imagined what the fuck. 2. Shit!!! Did she say it back?? Ahhhhh 3. On the real doe, I’m really happy for you. Your romance with Lexa is warming even my cold, dead heart <3_

_Also Octavia told me to tell you she shares all the above sentiments_

_she didn’t say it back but…i want her to say it when she’s ready and when she means it, not just because i said it first. so that’s totally ok with me_

_Like I said. Revolting._

 

You walk out of the restroom with a giddy smile as you try to find Lexa again, and the sight you’re met with when you find her makes you pause.

She’s standing with her back to you, centered in front of a huge Color Field painting – it’s simple, the majority of the canvas a deep burgundy, divided vertically straight down the middle by an imperfect orange strip of paint. It’s the kind of painting that a lot of people look at and scoff, _my five-year-old could’ve painted that._ But you know better. And, judging from the fact that Lexa still hasn’t moved, she probably does too.

You take a mental snapshot of how she looks standing there right now, because the image is arresting and beautiful, even if you’re already more than overflowing with artistic inspiration because of her.

After a few more moments watching, you silently approach and stand at her side. She hands you your wine and takes a step over to make room without looking at you. You watch her profile, her intelligent eyes roaming the canvas, until she steps even closer to it, so close that you can see the orange of the paint reflected onto her face. You step with her, still watching her.

She closes her eyes, sighs, then finally begins to speak, but she still doesn’t look at you.

“I cited Abstract Expressionism in my thesis. A piece a lot like this one.”

You nod, listening.

“There’s an honesty to Color Field that I’m very drawn to. A pure expression of emotion through color.” A pause. “It came from war. Europe was in shambles after World War II, so New York became the new cultural capital. Everyone took that tragedy and horror and tried to heal through art, and what they made were pieces like this.”

You face the painting with her, letting the enormity of the canvas wash over you as she continues.

“You walk up to a piece like this, or a Rothko, and you stand this close? It’s meant to overwhelm in a way that simultaneously makes you feel deeply alone but also profoundly connected. Part of something bigger than just yourself.”

You watch her again, because she’s doing that thing where her throat bobs and she blinks a lot, but she’s still not looking at you.

“And I think…” She swallows. “I think I resigned myself to that for a long time, after…” _After Costia._ “To this idea that we’re all parts of a same whole, of humanity, but that ultimately, we’re alone.” She clenches her jaw, and you can tell from her rapid blinks that she’s fighting tears.

You take her hand silently, holding it tight in your grasp. She swallows thickly, and blinks until the risk of tears is gone, then looks down at your joined hands.

“But Clarke…”

She takes a shaky breath, brushing a thumb over your knuckles as she finally turns to give you _the look_ , like you literally fell from the stars.

“I’m not sure I believe that anymore.”

She searches your eyes, and you offer the hint of a smile, because you understand what she’s trying to say. You lift your joined hands to press a lingering kiss to the back of hers.

“You’re not alone.” You say, a confirmation.

Lexa smiles back at you, trembling as she echoes,

“I’m not alone.”

It’s not _I love you too_ , except it is. 

 

_end_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOY howdy alrighty okay.
> 
> 1\. So sorry this last chapter took so long, guys. It's also a little hastily proofread, so. Errors on me. If you wanna little TMI insight, my long term girlfriend and I recently broke up, so trying to write about the fictional wlw couple that reminded me a lot of my own relationship was, uh, a little agonizing at times. But ultimately cathartic? Idk. This whole fic ended up being the most self-indulgent turd in the world, this totally unexpected outlet for me to kind of evaluate and understand myself and my values. So I’m frankly shocked that y’all are reading it and even like, enjoying it? What? Anyway. I loved being able to explore all these relationships, and kind of trying to capture the essence of what it feels like to fall in love with someone so hard and fast it knocks the wind out of you. Hopefully I captured that. It's been a journey. Especially with the season premiere today, the Lexa mention and everything, this feels a lot like closure. So thanks for stickin with me.
> 
> 2\. Sorry for all the art history bullshit. I do really feel like a modern Clexa would be really invested in culture like that, because they’re both such independent-minded people, and unafraid to go against cultural grains.  
> Also, sidenote, I really tried to work Murphy in there somehow, because I always thought he was a fascinating character and even in the show they kind of explored his role of “class smartass” before shit became life/death. But it didn’t feel natural. Just know that in this AU, sometimes Clarke is on bar, grudgingly working a dead lunch shift with murphy as her server. Ultimate partners in filth. Also, never got around to any Anya scenes. That one was pretty disappointing too.
> 
> 3\. I’ve had a number of people send me asks on tumblr (I’m hedarey, hmu), but I haven’t answered any of the anon ones just because it’s my personal blog that irl people see, soooooo I kinda didn’t want to reveal that I write disgustingly emotionally smutty bar AUs for a shitty CW tv show. Come off anon! I promise I won’t bite. Let’s be friends.
> 
>  
> 
> That’s all. Feedback is love. Osir gonplei nou ste odon. Clexa will always be with us.


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